15 Going On 25
by OmfgNewCeiling
Summary: They never should've tried filming iCarly in a thunderstorm. "Toto, I don't think we're fifteen anymore." Eventual Seddie.
1. Prologue: Freddie

**Title; **15 Going On 25

**Rating;** T

**Genres; **Humor, Drama

**Pairings; **Freddie/Sam, Carly/Shane, Spencer/Sasha (others, but we don't want to give away TOO much)

**Sumary; **They never should've tried filming iCarly in a thunderstorm. "Toto, I don't think we're fifteen anymore."

**Authors; **somerdaye, aka Somer, who will write for Freddie, Spencer and a surprise person's POVs - PinkJelly, aka Kat, who will write for Carly, Sam and another surprise's POV.

_**15 Going On 25**_

_Freddie's POV_

_somerdaye_

_**xx**_

_This isn't a good idea._

The part of my brain that sounds suspiciously like my psychotic mother continued to fret. I mean, so what if this is the biggest thunderstorm Seattle's seen in years? No reason to panic. Just because we're doing iCarly amidst all the **BOOM**s of thunder and flashes of lighting and girlish shrieks (courtesy of Spencer, who is currently hiding under his bed, clutching a rubber duckie. I'm _this_ close to joining him) doesn't mean there's a reason to worry. Nope. And I'm _definitely_ not worried.

**BOOM.**

I jump and let out an involuntary yelp, like a dog that's just had his tail stepped on. Sam snorts with laughter at my slight panic, but I can see a small trace of apprehension on her face. That girl likes us all to believe she isn't afraid of anything. Of course, I happen to know at least three of her fears; getting wrinkles, flammable things near Spencer, and earwigs. Then again, who isn't afraid of flammable things around Spence? He's like a magnet for fire. Seriously, I don't think he can go a whole day without setting something on fire at least once. Did you know he set his goldfish on fire yesterday? Yes. Swimmeth II is no more.

Carly, on the other hand, looks just as panicked as I feel. She's smiling in a way that looks more like a grimace and clenching her fists. Her list of fears is far more extensive than Sam's. And thunderstorms? Yes, they are on the list. They're on mine, too, come to think of it. And my list, thanks to my dear mother, is longer than both girls' - put together. _Thanks mom. I'm the pansy in this group, I see._ But Sam is having none of this 'fear' nonsense, and she rolls her eyes at Carly and me.

"All right, folks, looks like it's almost time for us to go!" Sam grins at the camera I'm holding (somewhat shakily) and presses the _boo_ button on her remote. "But first, let's check out this user-submitted video of a squirrel trying to open a jar of peanut butter!" Can a squirrel really open a jar of peanut butter? Wow. This, I did not know. I wonder if it needing training, or if it just smelled the nutty scent radiating off the jar.

"Roll it, Freddie," Carly squeaks, causing me to jerk out of my nervously rambling thoughts. Sam snorts again. I made a face at her and walked over to my precious laptop. I press a few keys, trying to get my hands to stop shaking long enough to type in the commands. But the tv won't work.

"What's going on, Freddie?" Carly asks me nervously, twisting her hands together. You can tell she doesn't even want to be here. She just wants to be curled up in her bed, screaming every time thunder booms. Speaking of thunder booms, there's another one right there. Carly shuddered and backed away from the window.

My brow furrows as I type. "I don't know - I'm pressing the right keys, but it's just not working!" An edge of panic creeps into my voice. I continue to pound at the keyboard, my fingers moving fast and my breathing getting slightly erratic. _Nothing better be wrong with my baby! _I bite my lip and stop with the poundage of the keys. "Uh, it's...not working, guys, maybe you should do something else for this segment?"

Sam scoffs. "I'll get it to work," she says impatiently and stomps up to the tv screen, just as another bolt of lightning streaks across the darkened sky, disturbingly close to the window in the studio. Actually-

_CRACK!_

"Sam, look out!" Carly cries out, launching herself toward the agressive blonde and pulling her back just before the lightning strikes the tv . A moment of relief . Then-

"Carly! Sam! Move!" I shout at them, real, high-pitched panic in my voice now. They're in real danger. That lightning just hit the tv, and if they don't move, soon... But they're frozen to the spot, mouths hanging open in identical expressions of shock and fear. _They're not going to move away in time! _I run and pull them both to the ground.

Just as the tv falls over. Onto us.

_**xx**_

**somer's note; **Um, yeah. Hi. Kat and I are co-writing this fic, here. In case anyone's confused, the story will rotate through the formerly mentioned six people (CarlySamFreddieSpencerTwoSurprises) and Kat and I are writing for different people, also mentioned above. I don't really know what to say about this prologue, other than 'enjoy'. :)

**kat's note;** Um, yeah. Hey, this is Kat. I write for Sam, Carly, and one of the special guests. Which, unless you're bad at deductive reasoning, at which case you may be suffering from chronic stupidity (Together, we can find a cure -grins-), means that Somer is doing the others. This is not a regular 13 going on 30 themed fic, and we hope you enjoy the twists and turns!

P.S. Did you know that the purple button below this can also cure chronic stupidity? Limited time only offer! And all you have to do is say the word. Really. Just say the word. **(cough, the button is green, Kat. You can be the first one to use the cure. --Somer)**

**we both sayy;** If you liked this prologue, press the button and say _the dingo ate my cheese socks!_ and if you do not like it, say _blurry fries!_ **(actually, Kat just wants people to say blurry fries, so you can say that if you like it, too. --Somer)**

_This was formatted by Somer. Kat had no say in anything but her own note and our joint note and about keeping the other two POVs a secret until they show up._


	2. One: Sam

Disclaimer: iCarly is not mine, will never be mine, so _stop reminding me_ of the fact that I can't make Sam and Freddie make out every single scene, mkay?

--

"AHHH!"

I cover my face with my hands and roll over from where I was on the couch. Falling over onto the floor unexpectedly, (_"Whoa!")_I find myself collapsing on top of a shrieking best friend.

"Good morning to you too," I mock salute to her pale face. Grinning lazily, I stand up, kick a drooling tech nerd with my left foot, and stretch out.

Ahhh.

"Did you know that good morning is just as sufficient a greeting as falling onto someone _uninvited_?" Carly says, shifting her weight with support from the arm rest.

"But where's the fun in that?" I give her my best mischievous grin.

"The fun would be not breaking my collarbone," she groans, rubbing the back of her neck while collapsing onto the soft sofa cushions. "God, how scary was last night?" She asks.

"Well, judging by the fact that Frederica here is still passed out in the fetal position, I'd say it was pretty scary." I point out the dork still curled up on the floor, sucking his thumb. Hmm, I thought I kicked harder than that. "What's with the scream?"

"Just remembering last night, when the TV fell on us," she sighs, "delayed reaction I guess. Sorry if I woke you up."

Speaking of delayed reactions, I just remembered the dork's sucking his thumb. Eager to get a-moving with this new piece of information, I wave my hand, "it's no big deal, Carls. " I say, the cogs moving in my brain. "Hey, can you hand me the light blue camera behind you?"

Carly frowns, "I don't remember a light blue camera."

"Freddison probably bought it here for its proficiency in filtering the white balance or something," I say, "just give it here."

But Carly's frown deepens. "In fact, why are we in the living room? Didn't we shoot iCarly in the studio? "

"Spencer probably bought us here so we'd be more comfortable," I answer easily, "So how about handing me that camera?"

Becoming increasingly agitated, Carly's voice grew shrill, "Well, why didn't Spence bring us up to my room and Freddie home? Why the living room? He wouldn't leave us just sprawled out on the floor!" At that, Freddie groans, probably being subconsciously reminded of the cold hard wood he is currently facing down on.

"Look, I don't know what goes on in Spencer's mind," I say soothingly to my frantic best friend, "and I bet you he doesn't either. But right now, my mission is to take a picture of my infant of a technical producer, so could you help me with that?"

Carly hesitates, wanting to go on. But she nods resignedly, knowing it was fruitless to argue with me until I've accomplished my mission, although she still looks troubled. She reaches to the couch to try to find the camera by feel, and suddenly, I realized my senses weren't all that sharp at the moment either. Carly's profile was a blur, and her perky sounding "got it!" ringed in my ears. Must be what a hang over feels like, I thought. Wow, if drinking too much equals to being knocked out by a giant TV in a thunderstorm, I am definitely having some words with my mother.

Head spinning, my fingers barely caught the camera as Carly throws it to me, it fumbles between my fingers and I feel oddly pathetic.

"Well?" Carly looked at me expectantly, hoping that I'd finish with the photo soon so we can discover where the camera came from. So I snapped a shot and suddenly felt better. Figures.

Looking at Carly, I grin. "It's perfect," I declare, settling back to the couch and scooting closer to her. "Look at the way the slobber contrasts with his brown hair," I point. The corner of Carly's mouth curls up to an amused half smile and she lets out a small laugh. Encouraged by the fact my friend looked less edgy than she has all morning, I go on to describe how the formation of drool on his chin makes a perfect Pisces sign and how that makes him a nub-ass-wimp face until Carly and I were laughing our heads off, shooking the couch.

"And - and," I said between snorts, "see the blob of drool over there on Freddie's right arm? It almost makes him look like he has biceps!" At the thought of the meek geek (hee) having any sort of muscle, I burst into giggles, but I was laughing alone, as Carly - for whatever reason - stopped laughing. Instead, she was examining Freddie carefully.

I pause. "It's over there, by his head?" I point out helpfully, "Don't they look like biceps?"

Carly looks at it closely, "those _are_ biceps," she points out.

I laughed.

"No, I'm serious." Carly says seriously.

Deciding to humor my delusional friend (she must have hit the ground _hard_), I took a look at Freddie. The blob that I thought I saw wasn't there, instead, there was a bump on the arm, and it - it did look like muscle. Hm, how about that. I still wasn't convinced, so I reached out and touched it.

Nice, firm...holy crayola, those were biceps. My eyes bugged out, and so did Carly's, but that's probably due to the fact that I'd just willingly touched Freddie. "You're right," I tell my best friend. "These are biceps! The dork has biceps!"

And of course, that was the moment his eyes fluttered open. (what a girl.)

After five seconds of uncomfortable silence (which mostly consisted of me staring at the dweeb, Carly staring at me, and said dweeb trying to recall consciousness.), he says, "Why are you feeling my arm?" realizing I was still clutching - biceps! - to his right limb, I hastily drop my hand.

"I was trying to find ticks, if you must know." I lie.

He is not convinced. "Ha-ha, Sam. No, really, why were you groping my arms just now?"

I shrug, "you could change the subject all you want, it's not gonna save you from the ticks."

Rolling her eyes, Carly informs him. "You have biceps."

"…No I don't. Where did you get that idea?" He looks confused. We stared at him.

"Uh," He berates himself, "I mean, I'm sure I have them somewhere, but - I do work out and everything, it's not like I'm not totally unfit, and I do go jogging with Gibby once a week - alright, once a month, but - _biceps_?!"

Carly and I looked at each other. We lift Freddie's arm and pointed at the bulge.

"Holy batman!" his eyes widened. "When did I get those?"

"We're just as surprised as you are," I snort. Carly gave me a look. "Next thing you know, you're gonna grow leg hair." I poke the bulge.

Carly spoke up, "Where did this all come from? Muscle doesn't just grow over night. Just yesterday you had to ask Sam to open your water bottle _for_ you."

"Hey, if it had to happen to anyone, I'm glad it was me." Freddie says.

I don't reply. Instead, I bunch up the skin in his arm and make it look like a face. "Hello," I say in a high girly voice, "I'm Freddo's bicep. It really sucks living on a dork-"

"Stop wiggling it!" he snaps.

"Don't tell me what to do, Benson, I'll wiggle it if I want to!" I snap back, wiggling it harder while staring daggers at him. He glowers back, and I think about how weird this must be for Carly, watching me wiggle Freddie's muscles while we glare at each other.

Carly doesn't chuckle. She looks to be deep in thought. "Lift up your pants," she orders.

"Huh?" Freddie and I say simultaneously. "Just do it," she says exasperatedly, as if she's talking to a bunch of eleven year olds. We're all fifteen! Granted, Freddie acts like an eleven year old sometimes, but with those biceps, he could pass for twenty...mm, biceps...

Obediently, Freddie lifts up his pants. He then let out a girly shriek. "That's leg hair!" he tells us excitedly, as if we couldn't already tell by the streaks of descending black hair, I was suddenly tempted to play line the dot.

"Looks more like fur to me," I say, but Freddie's too excited to jab back, he's running his hands through them and looking at them as if they're a newborn baby instead of icky black stringy things on a barely pubescent teenage boy. He used to look at Carly that way, I reflect.

"What is going on?" Carly demands, looking at me. I shrug.

The movements of the shrug made me realize that I was sitting on something; standing up from the couch, I pick the object up. It was a pair of horn rimmed glasses. (None of the Shay's need glasses.)

Out of curiosity, I put them on. Suddenly, my vision improved by quite a bit. It wasn't quite the right degree, as I could tell, because I was feeling woozy, but it was high enough that I could see things more clearly than I have all morning. Suddenly seized with a desire to see Freddie's arm muscle in high definition - he has biceps! I can't believe it - I turn around and examine the dork.

Holy crap. He's not the dork.

I must have looked horrified, because Carly snatched the glasses from me, "what's wrong?" she asks. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

"Uh, I have." I say. "Put the glasses on."

Confused, Carly obeys, lifting the glasses up and tilting them so the points landed on her ears. Then she takes one look around and screams.

I covered my ears and Freddie grimaced. "Why are you wearing glasses?" He asks.

Instead of asking the question, she gawked and points a finger at him, "You - you're hot!"

Completely baffled, he takes a step back, "uh, I'm glad you think so?" He says as if it's a question. Carly was still staring at him.

"Not that I'm not appreciating the new, uh - appreciation you guys have for me or anything, but didn't you say last week that though I'm endearingly adorable, I could never be seen as hot in your eyes and therefore could never be applicable as your future husband?"

"And you," he points at Sam, "once compared me to a kumquat."

I smirked. "Not my fault the resemblance is uncanny." He rolled his eyes.

"It's impossible to change over night." He continues. (Carly's not easing up on the staring. It's a bit creepy actually.) So, is it possible that I've always had those things – you know, been hot - , but you guys just realized it?" He looks kinda terrified that he actually said this out loud, but kind of smug too.

Carly and I just laugh in response. We laugh so hard that we put our hands on each other's shoulder's to support ourselves. Freddie's face turns beet red, but we just can't stop laughing.

"Sorry – Freddie -" Carly gasps, and then collapses into giggles. He crosses his arms and flops down onto the couch, waiting for us to be done. (it took awhile.)

After the last giggle subsided, Freddie sighs. "So I guess it's not that," he says.

Carly agrees. "Yeah, those bad boys probably took awhile to grow." she peers over at them, still wearing the glasses. She clears her throat. "Can I - Can I touch them?" She says.

Freddie looked startled. "Huh?"

"Yeah Carls - Huh?" I echo.

"I just wanna know what they feel like!" she protests in a small voice.

"Uh," he looked at a loss of what to say.

"Oh come on," she persuades, "you let Sam fondle them for like half an hour!"

I look at Freddie, and he looked over at me. "Weird choice of words, Carls." I say.

"Oh, you know what I mean." She replies, a bit exasperated. "So can I?"

"Sure, I guess?" I see Freddie nod. So she reaches out and touches them.

"They're cool." Carly says after a moment.

Me and Freddie nods our heads automatically, probably both thinking that a hormonal Carly is a scary Carly. Or he's loving it, who knows.

"So, let's figure this out!" the brunette chirps, as if nothing out of the ordinary has just occurred at all. "He can't have grown them and the leg hair overnight, because that's impossible. Something weird is going on here and we're gonna find out what." She states confidently, sounding more like the peppy-hooray-hurrah-student-council Carly that I knew and loved occasionally when she implements my ideas on the lunch menu. (No greens. _Ever_.)

"So first things first: did anything else about you change?" She asks Freddie. "Like, your foot size or pants size or -"

"I dunno, let me check." He sprints into the bathroom.

My eyes followed his exit, and eventually drifted to Carly's when I realized there was something different about her appearance.

"Carly?" I spoke up. "When did you get a hair cut?"

She tilts her head, "I didn't," she says, her hands reaching out to touch her hair, as if making sure it was still there. "It's always been brown and a little more than shoulder length."

"Not anymore." I say, and reached over to get the camera which lays forgotten on the couch. A quick snap and I handed it over to Carly.

"No way," her face turns white. "What happened to my hair?"

Knowing that she was on the verge of a major freak out, I say, "It's just a little bit shorter," trying to comfort her. "It's not even that big of a deal, it's not like you have a bob suddenly or anything."

"That's true," she agrees in a small voice. Just then, Freddie yells from the bathroom, "Carly!"

"Yeah?" She replies. "Did you find anything?"

"Well, my shoe size stayed the same, and I realize I have no idea how to check my pant size, so nothing really has - HOLY CRAP!"

"What happened, geekwad?" I yell. But he doesn't reply, all I could hear was the noise of shoes clanking against the floor and faint whooping sound, making me chuckle in realization.

Carly smiled, but she stroke her hair uncertainly. "Relax, Carls, you look fine." I assure her. "You'd look great in whatever, no mushroom hair or even that fuzzy lemon of a sweater you're wearing now could stop you from looking ten times better than me."

Carly laughed, "the sweater is a big ridiculous isn't it?" she chuckles. I nod, "Completely. Why are you even wearing it anyways? It's summer and it's like 85 degrees outside." I open the window. A gush of wind came through it and I shuddered a bit.

"It's not that warm," Carly argues. "It's actually pretty nice in the sweater. _You_ look like you're freezing to death."

Just then, Fredward breezes through the bathroom door and comes out looking completely delighted. "Guys!" he calls out, excited. "You'll never guess what my-"

"Yeah yeah, we can guess, Fredward. Too much information," I cover my ears.

Freddie rolls his eyes and turns to Carly, "By the way, what happened to all those fancy soaps you guys always buy? All you have in there is dove and it's covered in red and purple splats."

Carly looks annoyed. She's always been OCD about those soaps. "What? Let me see." She dashes to the bathroom and I followed behind.

"Are you okay, Carls?" I ask, knocking on the door. Carly doesn't seem to hear me. "Oh my god, the lavender scent platypus is gone!" she calls out the bathroom door frantically, "Spencer is going to freak!"

"Where _is_ Spence?" Freddie asks. I shrug, thinking the same thing.

Carly finally emerges from the bathroom. "We need to find out what's going on, _now._" She demands. Dragging us by our ears ("ow! My mom just cleaned it yesterday!" _ugh_, earwigs), she marches us to the couch and pushes us down.

"Okay, here's the plan." She says firmly. "We're going to think clearly, looking around, recount last night's events and we're going to figure out _why_ this boy suddenly jets through puberty, and why Perry is with us no more. Rest his flakey little duck-beaked soul." She made a cross on her chest.

Freddie nods and stands up, but I cut in, "How about _you two_ go up and look around the studio, and I'll stay down_ here_ and look around the fridge?"

"Are you gonna come up with us if we say no?" Asks an amused Carly.

"Not a chance." I deadpanned.

"Okay." She drags Fredward by the arms (hah) and they climb up the stairs to the studio.

Alone at _last_. Rubbing my hands together in anticipation, I half-run to the fridge and open its door, letting the scent of frozen food-things wash over me. Then I reached out to my usual place, grabbing a fistful of – _nothing?_

I mentally checked down the list. Second compartment, check - the walls decorated with little tiny dancing ham stickers, check - next to the ketchup, usually, sometimes in canned form, often wrapped in plastic. The ketchup was there, as it's always been, sitting in a little red throne that sung christmas carols for no reason at all Spencer had made one lazy Tuesday afternoon, but where was the ham?

Stunned beyond belief, (Spencer would never forget my ham. _Never_. He _knows_ how I get.) I close the fridge door dejectedly. That's when I noticed that pinned onto the fridge, there was a picture of Spencer – and someone else.

The first thing that popped into my mind when I took a good look at the photo was Sasha Striker, the girl who Spencer had made out with that time he was obsessed with Pac-rat. The girl looked enough to be her, the same hair style, same body frame; same face, but matured, somehow. But it couldn't be her, Spencer hasn't talked to her in ages and he wasn't all that good with keeping up with former flames, anyways.

That was not the most puzzling thing about the photo, though. The puzzling thing was that in the background of the photo, there was a girl. Well, two girls. Two girls that looked a lot like Carly and _me. _Except, we were so much taller (and bustier), and I was hanging on the arms of Freddie. The strange thing is, Freddie looked exactly like he did this morning, but me and Carly looked like much older versions of ourselves.

Suddenly struck with a good idea - _I am an idiot for not thinking of it before_ - I twist the kitchen faucet and splashed some water on my face and specifically, my eyes. Everything looked clearer. With a slight bit of trepidation, I moved my fingers around the photo, carefully removing it from the fridge, and held it up in front of my eyes, scanning it.

It looked like an ordinary couple shot. Spencer and - _Sasha?_- holding hands at a party, both wearing tremendous grins and Sasha patting her stomach for whatever reason. In the background, the older lookalike me and Carly were laughing and I look just a bit drunk, which probably explained why I was hanging on to Freddie for support and why he had a concerned look on his face. On the edge of the photo, it said in faded letters, 3/9/2019.

It's a credit to the size of TV that I didn't realize what it meant just then. But I did realize that there was noise outside of the hall, getting closer to the Shay's loft. Looking around for a place to hide (I have no idea why), I remembered that the Shay's had a mirror. Quickly forgetting about hiding, I ran towards it, positioning myself and – and –

I _was_ the older version. The longer hair, the adult attire - _I should have noticed_ - And suddenly everything that should have been obvious from the start dawned on me.

Carly _didn't_ own a yellow fuzzy sweater. Freddie never _had_ biceps. And Spencer never did promise he wouldn't _ever _forget my ham.

"Toto," I said to myself. "I don't think we're 15 anymore."

-

Kat here here here. This is my first chapter, and my first published fanfiction, really. (And it's not even on my own account, rofl.) So comment and tell me what you think, even if it's harsh, I LOVE constructive reviews, so send 'em! Click the green button! (See, I have learned :p.)

**_Ham ham pashmina afghan!_** for the people who liked it, and _**wobbly teabags! **_for the ones who don't. _**Special Ham**_ if you just really, really can't wait til iFight Shelby Marx.

(And if you're wondering where Somer is...she told me to relay a very special message to you guys!

_'somer is busy being awesome. leave a message at the sound of the beep.')_

Yeah, she - I don't know. -shakes head-

Haha.

Bye.

P.S I feel like tacos.

P.S.S JUST WATCHED IFIGHT SHELBY MARX. I AM PSYCHIC. -POINTS UP TO THE SPECIAL HAM SENTENCE-


	3. Two: Spencer

**EDIT::** I tried posting this last night, but FF was down. :( Anyway, I still haven't shown most of this to Kat.

**disclaimer;** I still don't own it. I also do not think Jennette's singing voice is horrible, but in the interests of comedy, Sam's is.

_**15 Going On 25**_

_Spencer's POV_

_somerdaye_

_**xx**_

Would you _believe_ the amount of traffic a city like Seattle can have on a Wednesday morning? It's apparently a lot.

I'm just getting back from shopping on the other side of the city (and carrying bags for two females...ugh, do my arms hurt. No, I do _not_ need to start working out. Shuddup!) and Sasha is still gushing about all the cute outfits we bought Sadie.

Oh, in case you're wondering, Sasha (Striker. Hah. Let the records show that Spencer Shay married a hot mama. And she is. A mama, I mean. She's hot, too, but that's not really the point I'm trying to make) is my wife of nearly nine years, and Sadie is our baby girl. Only she's not quite a baby anymore. She's seven years old and as sassy as Carly used to be. Only worse, since it's much more humiliating to be called on my "dumb" ideas by my daughter. (Sasha and Sadie's word! Not mine! All my ideas are brilliant. Just because the two of _them_ can't handle when I wanted to make a sculpture out of Griffin's Peewee Babies. Maybe it was a good thing they talked me out of it, though. When I suggested it to him, he looked at me as though I wanted to torture puppies with thumbscrews and Sam's singing voice.)

"Sasha, can you open the door? My arms are full of YOUR BAGS." I try and glare at her, but she smiles at me and I need to lean against the door to stop my knees from buckling. She laughs and pushes the door open, causing the bags to fly everywhere as I fall over backwards.

"Daddy!" Sadie shrieks, indignant. "Why'd you fall over?! Those are very important items!" Yes, because I very much _wanted_ to dislocate my shoulder for the fourth time this week.

"Sorry, sweetie. Mind helping Daddy up?" I hold my hand out to her, and with the combined efforts of my daughter and wife, I'm staggering to my feet. I shake my head, trying to get rid of the rush that comes with _oh damn I stood up too fast_, you know, the one that Sam tries to get all the time?

Speaking of Sam. There she is, in my refrigerator. Am I surprised? No. I did think I changed the locks again, but I suppose I never expected that to stop her. I mean, the kiddo lives right across the hall - it's far too much to ask her to stop breaking into my apartment and eating my food.

_I_ may not be surprised, but she sure seems to be. Her mouth is hanging open like a door on it's hinges and her eyes are almost as wide as Sadie's head. (Only a slight exaggeration.)

"Hey, Sam, is it too much to ask that you don't eat my food?" I groan, stretching my muscles (don't laugh!) so they don't feel as sore. She continues to stare at me, and Sasha laughs.

"Spence, it's ten in the morning. Sam obviously isn't awake enough to register anything outside the realm of ham." She teases, picking up the shopping bags and throwing them on the couch. Sam nods absently.

"Still," I whine, flopping down in one of the chairs. "She really needs to just get food from her own apartment. I'm sure Gr-"

"Spencer?" Carly and Freddie are just coming down the stairs. I wonder why Carls is wearing her glasses. She usually uses contacts. I groan again.

"Why are you all in my apartment? I don't want you here, I don't ask you to be here." I complain, but my mouth is twitching, I know it. I don't like admitting it, but I love having them all over. Sadie comes back in the room from her trip to the bathroom and squeals.

"Auntie Carly!" She sprints across the room and leaps into Carly's surprised arms. I don't know why she's so surprised, Sadie's been doing this since she could walk. Carls manages a weak smile and sets my daughter down gently. Sadie, not one to sit in one place for more than a minute (unless she's watching MMA fights with 'Auntie' Sam. Sasha and I didn't want Sam to watch them with our little girl, but since when does anything I say affect Sam?) automatically grabs Freddie around the legs.

"Uncle Freddo!" I see Sam, still holding a mirror (why...?) snort and shake with suppressed giggles. I frown; Sam's heard Sadie call Freddie that for...ever. Since Sades first met Freddo. I sense something is wrong here. I stroke my invisible beard (I really wanna grow one, but Sasha says no, and then when I appeal to Sadie she hits me over the head with whatever object she has in her hand) and ponder reasons why the kiddos could be acting this way.

Alien abduction? Naw, too easy. One of Mel's experiments? No, she's always careful - unless Sam got at it, but I still can't think of anything Mel would do that would make them so confused.

Shane hit Freddo in the head with a hockey puck? No, Shane doesn't play hockey. And that would only explain the tech geek's blank expression. I am hard pressed to find an explanation for why Sam, of all people, is acting both reserved and a little afraid.

I snap my fingers as the obvious answer comes to me.

Ninjas.

Of course! They stole into 8D when all three of the old iCarly gang was hanging there and wiped their memories! Looks like I'm going to have to have a talk with them. I sigh - this could be a long, boring recap of their lives.

Unless...

I think of my old Fatcakes sculpture, the one that was going to be put in a very esteemed food-art gallery - until Sam ate it, that is. Even though this incident was about...oh, I dunno...five, maybe six years ago, I still need some revenge. And this, my friends, is a perfect way to get it.

I clear my throat. "Sasha, hon, I need to talk to these three, do you think you and Sadie could go hang out on the third floor or something?" Sasha nods, and rolls her eyes at my miming of beard-stroking, before detaching Sadie from Fred's legs and bringing her up the stairs. Carly and Freddie automatically flop down on the couch, but Sam is a little more wary. She eyes me like she's never seen me before and sits on the edge of the couch with a shrewd look on her face and the mirror still in her hand.

"Spence, what's going on? Who was that girl?" Carly looks more than a little freaked out. I don't blame her - if I had _my_ memories wiped and then was called 'Auntie' by some random little girl, I'd be freaked out too. Not least because I'm a dude. I try and smile reassuringly at her, but my face remains business-like. Well, we _are_ talking ninjas, here.

"Well, kiddos, it's obvious your memories have been wiped. I can help, but I'm gonna need to know the last day you remember, because I _really_ don't want to recap things you already know."

Carly nods slowly and is appearing to calm down. "The last day we remember is August 8th, 2009." She says in a shaky voice. I resist the urge to groan for a third time - ten years of recapping? Sheesh. At least I have a plan to make this more interesting.

"All right. Welp, we'll start with Miss Carly Jane Shay," I tune into _storyteller mode_, the same mode I use when tucking Sadie into bed - my bedtime stories come complete with costumes and weird noises - as I gesture to Carly. She nods, looking a little excited. I'm not sure why, but it might be because she's learning about her life. That'd be awesome, wouldn't it?! Oh, right, storytelling. "Her high school years are very boring for me to talk about, as they consisted mostly of parties and, ugh, boys, and student council and cheerleading -"

"I'm a cheerleader?!" Carly squeals, hugging herself as she smiles brightly. Sam rolls her eyes and settles back into the couch a bit more, looking bored. Freddie is smiling in a goofy way - probably imagining my sister in a cheerleading costume.

"Well, you were. In high school. Anyway, you graduated as valedictorian and you got a scholarship to NYU!" I can't help but get excited, I'm so proud of my baby sister. She looks excited, too, and even Sam smiles a bit. Freddie gives her a pat on the back. "At NYU you re-met up with Shane - remember, Elevator Shaft Boy? Yeah, well, you guys started seeing each other a lot, and then you guys moved in together." I shudder. Stupid Shane. I like the guy, but c'mon, this is my sister we're talking about here.

Carly gives a quick nod, telling me to stop shuddering and continue the damn story. Sam raises an eyebrow and smirks, high-fiving Carly and giving Freddo a smug look. Before she can actually say anything to aggravate Freddie, I decide to intervene.

"And then," I say with a slightly raised voice, causing Sam's head to snap back to me. "You graduated from university and debated going to law school. Before you could make up your mind, some tv producers got a hold of you and asked you if you wanted to do a talk show, named iCarly after the old webshow. They said you could be the next Oprah. Of course, you jumped at the chance but demanded the show be held in Seattle - you missed us too much. And that's the life of Carly Shay, the 'New Oprah', who interviews people like Cuttlefish's lead singer and the host of Cherry Spray and the actor off Lone Shrub Cliff and the author of the Afterlight series, Steffie Mayor or something."

"Yay me!" Carly claps her hands together and does a little dance. I watch, amused, as she imitates London Tipton off that one show she used to say I was "too old to watch" (I still watch reruns).

"Wait," Freddie interrupts Carly's happy dancing, looking anxious. "Any...any deaths?" Carly freezes and looks at me in horror. Sam's eyes widen slightly and her knuckles whiten. I wince. They just had to ask.

"Well...yeah..." I shift awkwardly, aware that they were awaiting names. I sigh. "Sam...your mom..." I try and make a sympathetic gesture as Sam's teeth clench and her eyes become a little brighter. Carly grabs her arm and Freddie gets up and moves to the other side of Sam so he can put an arm around her shoulder. They both look a little uncomfortable with this, but Sam still leans her head against his chest. I resist smirking with difficulty, as this will make my plan so much easier.

"How?" Sam forces out gruffly. Carly moves her hand from gripping Sam's left arm to holding Sam's left hand with both of her own.

"Uh...I honestly don't know. Nobody did but you," I shrug, still looking sympathetically at her. "And since you don't remember, I guess we're never finding out." She nods sadly. Freddie looks at her, concerned, before turning back to me.

"Anyone else?" I shake my head and they all breathe a sigh of relief.

"Well, except Lewbert - he got hit by a bus three years ago. But I don't really think you guys'll be too sad about that." They shake their heads and Sam even gives a little snort, sitting up straight and pushing Freddo's arm off her shoulder. Looks like she's back to normal. Well, normal-er, anyway.

"Where did I go to college, and what's my job?" Sam asks, rubbing her hands together eagerly.

"Well, you went to Seattle community college and leeched off my food, and you became one of those food critics."

"I...I..." She seems at a loss for words. I don't understand why, as this just so happens to be her dream job. "I...get _paid _to _eat_?"

"Yup!"

"Fuschia riot!" She screams, jumping up and punching the air in victory. That's more like it. And I smile slightly - _fuschia riot_ is what Carly used to make Sam shout whenever she wanted to say the phrase 'effing right' without the censoring. Speaking of Carly, she is watching Sam in part pity, part amusement and part annoyance. Freddie is just looking at her increduously; she just learned her mother's dead, why the heck is she so happy?! The answer, Fredman, is that Sam is totally content with hiding her feelings in front of people. Unless those feelings are feelings of animosity (oh yeah, new word) toward Freddie.

"Well, what's my job?" Freddie cuts in, slightly annoyed at the blonde's behaviour.

"Something boring," I wave my hand. "I know you work for the Pear Company, though." Freddo grins and sits back, looking smug. Sam sits back down, with a grin still on her face.

"_Sooo_," she starts, drawing the word out like bubblegum (which I _reaaaallly_ want right now) and leaning forward. "Carly's got a nice-lookin' bee-eff. You're with a smokin' hot mama. Where's Puckett's lovin's?"

Time to begin my plan. Good thing I learned how to lie convincingly a few years ago. I look properly sheepish and scratch the back of my neck in apparent embarrassment.

"Well, uhh..." Damn, I'm good. They're totally eating out of my hands. Not literally, though. If Sam were eating out of my hands, I would soon have no hands left. "You might've noticed the rock on your left hand?" Sam looks down at her hand and shrieks - there's an engagement ring with a diamond the size of a kidney stone resting there. _I_ knew where it came from.

"I'm _engaged_?!" She shrieks, and then her and Carly grasp hands and let out a long, high-pitched squeal.

"Yeah. To Freddie." It's like the scene freezes. The girls turn slowly to stare at me, then they move their gaze to poor Freddo, who is looking thunderstruck. I 'wince' when they look at me again.

"So..." Carly says with a wildly transparent attempt to break the awkward silence (Sam and Fred are now staring, horrified, at each other); I can hear a slight note of panic in her voice. "So, like...where do we all live?" Ah, see, this I could answer.

"Carls, you live in a _biiig_ penthouse on Howell; Freddie, you're in 546 Harrison; and Sam, you're straight across the hall. And before you two complain about the distance, Sam's car is downstairs in the garage."

"What...kinda..." Sam attempts to ask. Good thing I understand the kiddo.

"It's a 9-year-old Mazda Mia convertible, the keys are in the ignition." Sam looks pleased with this news - she finally turns away from Freddo.

"All righty, then. _I'm_ way too lazy to drive the two of you all over the city, so you guys can take my car and I'll go across the hall and sleep." She claps her hands and

"Wait," Carly holds out her hand, indicating that I should wait, as her words also indicate. "How are Freddie and I gonna get into our houses?" She leaves Sam out of that, because Sam will have no trouble picking the lock of 8D, she's done it so many times before. Freddie still looks slightly punch-drunk, and Sam is avoiding his eye. Well, they're not talking about it now, but it's only a matter of time before she pummels him to the ground.

"Oh, Freddo always has a key in his back pocket, and you don't need a key, since you're in one of those fancy apartment complexes that have awesome doormans and stuff." They both nod and stand up, joining Sam at the door.

"Bye, kiddos!" I call out as they file into the hall. Carls gives me a strained smile before closing the door behind them. I resist the urge to let out a maniacal laugh as I sit there, feeling victorious.

Hey, it's not my problem if they now - falsely - think Sam and Freddo are in love. Sam ate my sculpture, this is her comeuppance! I should probably call her _real_ fiance and make sure he stays out of town for a few days. I've got the story in my mind and I'm reaching for the phone, but then I realise how comfortable this chair is, and I fall asleep.

Hah, we're even, Sam Puckett.

_**xx**_

**somer's note; **I finished and uploaded this without consulting Kat, muahaha. I figure it's a nice surprise for her, since I have to go to a wedding later today and I enjoy updating quickly. I hope you guys think I did Spencer okay. I mean, there's times when I definitely could've done more rambling and such, but it's just too early in the morning. Sorry.

On a related note, this chapter is 2691 words, so it's like 500 words shorter than the last chapter. Once again, I'm sorry. I wonder if anyone can guess who Sam is _actually_ engaged to? Let's make it a fun little game! If you know, say something along the lines of **bibbidi bobbidi bruhaha** and then write the name in pig latin (just because, well, I enjoy pig latin) and if you don't know, say f**riends don't let friends get mullets**. (It's true.)

_Formatted by Somer._


	4. Three: Carly

Disclaimer: heeeeeelloooo. I don't own it.

**15 Going On 25**

_Carly's POV_

Written by Kat

"Soo," I say to my friends once we stepped outside. "When were you guys planning to tell me the big news?" I grin.

Sam and Freddie just stare at me. "I still can't believe it," Sam mutters, looking down at the floor.

"I know." Freddie raises his eyebrows, gesturing between him and Sam, "I mean, you and me?"

"Who da-thunk-it?" Sam agrees, examining the ring, which was at least 70 karats, set with six round diamonds, one brilliant (and huge, oh my god) center stone, and the letter P on the hinge, for Puckett. I was almost starting to get a little jealous of Sam. I mean, not that she's not cool and appealing and everything, but twenty five and unhitched was _not_ part of the Shay master plan.

"Not me," Freddie shrugs, fiddling with his hands, looking – not…disappointed, but a bit uncomfortable. I felt sorry for the guy. It's not exactly a walk in the park to be engaged to someone who might bite your hand off at any given moment. Actually, I haven't talked to Shane in years (literally). I have no idea what the guy is like. He could have started a peewee babies emporium with Griffin for all I know.

Backing away from the scary thought, I shrug. "Well, I think it's adorable." I say, trying to break some of the tension. Truthfully, though, I thought they were an odd couple. Sure, they worked well together when Sam's not spit balling into his you-know-where, but it's just a slight bit strange to know that two people who you are practically siblings with somehow ends up together. I never thought of them that way, but hey, it was better than Gibby.

"At least I didn't end up with Gibby," Sam says, looking thoughtful. "Whatever happened to the shirtless wonder anyways?"

"I wonder," Freddie jokes. "Oh, you mean your brain? Not funny, geekazoid." Sam flicks Freddie's forehead, wearing a grin despite what she was saying. He grins back at her, then, realizing what he was doing, looks away.

Sam's grin dropped. "Is this gonna get weird, Freddork? 'Cause Mama doesn't do weird," she demands, grabbing a hold of his head and whipping it towards her.

"No, it's just..." he looked like he was searching for the right word. "Okay, it's pretty weird. And can you get your hands off of my hair?"

"Not until you get over it," Sam shrugs, looking defiant.

"How am I supposed to get over it with your grubby paws all over my face?" he complained.

"Just the benefits of married life, babe." Sam grinned.

Freddie sighed. "Okay okay, I'll try my best to be normal. Geez, woman, how did I ever fall for you?"

Sam considered this for a moment. "Probably my incredible personality and gorgeous figure," she answers nonchalantly. "Now where's the apartment? I'm starving."

I chuckled, "Some things never change."

It was pretty disturbing to see Sam unlock the door (with a _key_) to Freddie's old home and walk right inside like she was Mrs. Benson (Which, come to think of it, she will be soon. Hm...). I could tell I wasn't the only one who thought so, because Freddie crouched down on the ground and faintly croaked "I don't feel so good."

"Oh, come on Freddie," I manage to say. "It's not...that weird." Dragging him up to his feet, I was suddenly reminded that we forgot to ask for the key to the Mazda (and also forgetting there was one in the ignition). "Wait," I gestured to the boy, and knocked on the door.

"Coming!" I heard Sam yell, and Freddie slumped back down.

A few moments later, the door opened. "What's up?" Sam says, stepping out, hands cradling a bowl full of fruit. "Any problems getting to the car?"

"Well, actually, we kinda forgot to ask you for the key." I laugh self consciously. I hated making mistakes, but today was just so weird.

I see Sam nod, "be back in a sec." She disappeared, probably off to find Freddie's jewelry box. A moment later she reappeared, "here." she stuffed a remote into my hand. I examine it; instead of keys, it only had two buttons, one labeled "in" and one labeled "out". New technology! Freddie's gonna love this. "Cool, thanks." I nod.

"No problem," Sam salutes, closing the door. Then, I hear a scatter of pots and a whole string of Jesus' middle names. Soon enough, a furious Sam sticks her head back out again, and I notice that Freddie is laughing. "Benson!"

"Yes, dear?" He feigns innocence. I scrunched my eyebrows together, confused.

"Did you tie my shoelaces together?!?" Sam demands, face red. Ah, yes, that would do it.

He shrugged. "You told me to act normal." Freddie grinned triumphantly.

Sam considered this. I notice with a fear for my brunette friend that her hands are twitching towards the bowl. Probably for the grapes, and probably aiming for a new development of Freddie's. Then, her hands stop twitching.

"Fair enough," she says, looking down. "Good...work. Fruit?" She offers the bowl, now opening the door fully.

"I'll take a grape," Freddie grins, popping some into his mouth.

As Sam closes the door, the corner of her mouth quirked into a small smile, I reconsider what I've seen and think that maybe, they aren't such an odd couple after all.

--

"So, basically, strike up conversations with people who seem to know you, search for any memories you can. Photos, journals, online blogs, anything.," I finish, looking at Freddie.

He nods. "Got it. Hey, should we go back and tell Sam?" He pointed up to the apartment as we're walking in the underground garage, looking for the Mazda.

"Nah," I wave my hand. "She'll probably forget and turn on MMA."

He chuckles, then suddenly got somber. "I wonder what happened to Shelby Marx...what happened to everyone."

I shrug, "let's find out!". As we go around a corner, I spot the number. "Sixty three," I say out loud to myself. "That's the one."

"Good eye," Freddie says, and I can't help but think that his tone is different from all the other times he complimented me. Too bad I don't have my memories back now, as the new Oprah, I could probably decipher signals like this.

As we reach the car, Freddie (who begged to click the control) plopped down on shotgun, and I settled myself in my usual seat in the back of the car. It took a few moments for us to realize that no one was driving.

"I forgot! We're _fifteen_," I slap my hands on my forehead. "How the heck are we gonna drive this thing? We're not technically even the legal age yet!"

"Doesn't matter, does it? I mean, we look twenty five, hardly anyone's gonna guess that we're actually teenagers." Freddie tells me, looking positively giddy at the prospect of driving. Boys.

"That still doesn't change anything, neither of us knows how to drive," I point out.

"Actually, Spencer taught me a lot when we go 'man-bonding'." Freddie smile sheepishly.

"Yay," I sigh from relief, slumping back into the chair. Then, processing what he said, I sat back up in alarm. "Wait, _Spencer_ taught _driving_ to a_ fifteen_ year old?"

"They started when I was fourteen, actually."

"_Oh my god."_

"I never realized how much you talk in italics."

"Shut up," I poke him in the ribs absent-mindedly. He pokes back, and I was suddenly reminded of Facebook. Oh, good, I should definitely check if I have one once I get to Shane's.

Still poking Freddie, I quirk my head a bit. "How are you still _alive_?" I ask, genuinely curious. "I mean, a fourteen year old driving under the supervision of Spencer is pretty much a death sentence."

He shrugs. "There were some close calls," he recounts, "but most of the time he just had Socko pick us up." Upon my question glance, he paled. "You don't wanna know." He gestures. I figured the same thing, so I drop it.

"Well, we might as well count our blessings," I sigh. "How much do you know?"

"How to change the oil, uh, how to change a new tire, how to start it." He winces. "And I know what PRNDL stands for, but I did before we started the lessons, so."

_"Oh my god we're going to die_._"_

"Again with the italics?"

"I'm serious!" I plop back down dejectedly and fold my arms.

"Oh come on, I've seen Spencer do it a hundred times," He prods. "And I'm a genius with anything that requires motors."

"That may be true," I point out, "but a fried processor chip wouldn't kill you!"

"Come on, Carly, please? I'll drop you off first," he bribes.

"Come on? Come on? You, a completely inexperienced fifteen year old, wants to take a spin around downtown and bargain for our lives and all you can say to convince me is _come on_?!" I yell, feeling the anxiety catch up with me.

"Well…don't you wanna see your new life? Shane?" He says back, "and besides, how else would we get there?"

Nothing came to me at that moment. But once we're skidding across the street downtown, my face in a pillow and hysterical laughter coming from the driver's seat, a list of them popped up; we could have taken the bus, the subway, asked Spencer to drive us, call Shane to pick us up, _walked_ there...

**BOOM.**

"Did...you just crash into that stoplight?"

"...uh huh."

"Let's take a cab."

"Right."

--

Exhausted and permanently scarred, I was dropped off by at the apartment entrance by a very nice Indian cabbie named Mohammed who I hugged and kissed a million times and swore to interview on iCarly, even though I have no idea where that films or even if I'm allowed to pick my own guests. Whatever, I'm here and I'm safe from Fredward Benson, Speed Demon and that's good enough for me.

Remembering what Spencer said about the doorman, I looked around and tried to find some sort of old, distinguished British-man type with names like Norman or Richard. Instead, I find myself examining the outside lobby. It was absolutely gorgeous, the kind that hotels would have. The ceilings were divided into squares, with crystal chandeliers that look like they belong in a fairytale. They and the fireplace on either side of the walls lit up the place, and I held in my breath while walking around, taking it all in and trying to remind myself not to squeal.

I've never been clumsy, but looking up made me dizzy and I wasn't exactly looking at where I was going, so it was no surprise when I bumped into someone(really, you all saw this coming) back first, tripping over my Miu Miu shoe's (Eep! I have Miu Miu shoes!). What was surprising was that he caught me, his hands over my waist and my head dipping down, and it was _just_ like a fairy tale.

There's really no other choice when someone catch you by the waist but to look at them, so I did. He was totally cute, has the nicest smile and a symmetrical face (I love symmetrical faces), and my age! His best features were his eyes, though. They were a nice rich brown and I felt like I was staring into an ocean of hot chocolate.

"Are - are you okay, Carly?" He says, and I almost swooned at his use of my name. _Until_ I realized his voice cracked.

Standing up so fast I almost slipped again, I quickly step back a little and rub my eyes. Yup, he was fifteen. That's teenage acne right there, alright.

Suddenly realizing what a creepy pedophile I must have looked like, I looked around self consciously to see if anyone saw. I didn't see anyone shooting me weird glances, but I saw a couple of people on the phone and realized that they could be calling 911 right now, so I definitely needed to make a quick exit.

Cleared my throat, I shot him my most dazzling smile. "Hey – uh -" I examine his nametag, "...MyKynnzyye? What kind of name's that?"

"Oh, it's a hip way of spelling McKenzie, ma'am." He informs me brightly, blushing a little. "My dad was gonna call me Mac, but then mom said that oh no, there are like million's of Mac's in the word, so dad told her to do whatever she wants but I was gonna be named Mac, so my mom became creative and decided on this for my name, I don't think my dad likes it though, because now he calls me Renesme behind my mom's back. I don't know what that means, but it sounds pretty demeaning, so I never asked." he shrugged shyly, realizing he was rambling.

I consider telling...MyKynnzyye where his new nickname came from, but I decide a barfing teen wouldn't be helping me much right now, so I just smile at him and ask him sweetly to open the door for me. I think he almost tripped over himself to get to it. To thank him, and, okay, just for fun, I blew him a kiss from the other side, and he actually did fall that time.

…Being a hot grownup is so fun!

--

After calling Spencer to ask for my apartment number which he inconveniently forgot to tell me the first time, and wasn't very helpful the second time either ("_Where_ is your apartment? Why, it's _everywhere_." He chuckled wisely, probably stroking that invisible beard of his. God, one of these days I'm gonna cut off that beard). I finally reach it. Exhausted from climbing the stairs (because of course the elevator wasn't working) and ready to plop into bed, I realize that I needed a key card to get in; or more specifically, a doorman _with_ the keycard. Groaning internally, I go back down the stairs, hoping to find one.

After squealing just a little bit at my downstairs neighbor's door, which had a giant "M. Cyrus" printed across it, I manage to find an old looking Asian man with a keycard on his hand. Trying to convey to him that I needed to get into my apartment, I jumped up and down and mimicked actions like I did that time I went to Japan. But apparently not all Asian people are as good at charades, because he shot me a glare and slipped into the gold-adorned room. _Well _then.

Trying not to dwell on the fact that I just made a total idiot of myself (or why the ancient man went into Miley Cyrus's room...?), I picked myself up and forced myself to go down the other corridor, ignoring my urge to just lie down and nap.

Eventually, I found this equally-angry-looking-but is-an-actual-doorman doorman. His nametag said Joe, and he actually wasn't all that angry, because he smiled when he saw me. "Eh, Carly!" he greeted me, wrapping me into a big bear hug. "How have you been, chicka?"

"I've been fine, Joe." I said with a strained smile (I'VE BEEN AWFUL, THANK YOU VERY MUCH), thanking the lord that his name wasn't something like Reynalydo. "Could you get me in?"

"Sure, sure, anything for the new Oprah," he smiles and leads me back up the stairs to my room. When he slipped the card through the card-slot, I felt like I could cry.

"Thanks you so much, Joe! Have I ever told you how much I love the name Joe?" I beam at him, resisting an urge to try at a glomp.

"No problem, miss!" he tipped off his hat. I giggled as he took down the hallway.

Grabbing the doorknob and turning it around, I sighed in relief. "Finally," I mutter to myself. Pushing the door open, I yell gleefully, "Honey, I'm home!" (I've always wanted to say that.)

"Hey, you're back," I heard Shane's voice say…from an intercom? Looking around to see that it wasn't just me being delusional, I spot a white box from my right, decorated with…buttons and such. I reach out to touch it, but his voice suddenly popped out again, scaring me a bit. "I'll be right there!"

Realizing I haven't said a word since I came in, I call out "hey" weakly. Not sure what to do with myself (god, I really am out of it), I sit down slowly on one of the couches.

The minute my skin made contact with the soft cushions, my whole body relaxes and stress flies out of the window. I sigh, realizing that this is the only relaxing moment I had today; taking advantage of it, I kind of…cuddle with the pillows, taking sometime to examine my surroundings.

It was all very…brown. And white. And very, very modern (As you can see, I am not the most verbose person at the moment). It was definitely gorgeous, though, glamorous with an edge to it, probably because technology adorned the walls: PearTVs (probably to support Freddie), laptops all over the place, and film equipment hung up everywhere on the walls, and this was just the _sitting_ room.

All over the place were iCarly posters, promos, and screenshots. I was kind of wondering if I was super narcissistic or something until I realize that in one of the posters, a giant "Produced By Shane Marslow" was written across it in times new roman. Ah, that would explain it.

Before I could examine further, I heard a whoosh sound. The door across from me opened, and Shane came out, sporting a messed-up hairdo and…

"Hey hon," he called out, kissing my forehead and wrapping his hands around me. "How was Spencer's?"

_AND HE WASN'T WEARING ANY CLOTHES._

Pushing him away from me in shock, I splutter out, "why aren't you wearing any clothes?"

He chuckled. "Babe, you know I don't believe in that kind of stuff."

"You don't believe in... clothes?" I question, looking at him strangely. Who was my boyfriend?!

"Yeah, they're totally unnecessary. I mean, it's just covering up_ me_, you know?" He says passionately.

"Uh-"

"Anyways, I thought you accepted that part of me? You've dated people with worse secrets, and they found love. Well, not with you, but, you know what I mean." He chuckles.

Realizing I was coming across as strange, I shake my head. "I…I'm fine. Spencer just…came up with a new invention. You know." I nod my head, hoping the excuse was believable enough. Does Spencer even sculpt anymore?

"Oh," he nods in understanding. Now grinning, he snakes his arms around my waist, leaning his forehead onto mine, "well, we can't have you remembering such a traumatic experience, now, can we?" he whispers huskily.

"Uh, ha-ha, n-no we can't," I chuckle nervously, still aware of his state of undress, which will soon become a moot point if this goes where I think is going…

"You know," he presses his lips to mine lightly, "The maid's not home. What do you think?"

"...I think I left something at Spencer's!" I almost shrieked, push his face away with my hands and jumped out of his arms. Grabbing my stuff (then remembering I don't have any), I push the door open and got the hell _out_ of there.

--

"And – and then he _grabbed_ me and – whispered things!" I cried, rocking back and forth on the couch of my old home, clutching a pillow to my heart.

Spencer just stared at me incredulously. "He's your _boyfriend_."

"A boyfriend I didn't know I had!" I throw up my hands and cross my arms.

"Carly," he says in a consoling voice, "you've been living with this guy for like, what, after till college?"

"After till college?!"

"After till college – now, he's been a nudist for half those years, and even when he wasn't, he never liked to keep his pants on. Even when I was visiting," Spencer looked up, contemplative. "I remember this one time when I was going to visit you and I found him and Gibby – that's not important. What's important_ is_ that he really loves you, Carls. And, you loved him too. Just give him a try?"

I looked up, "I did?"

Spencer nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yeah! You guys went everywhere together. You were-" he struggled with the words, "- perfect for each other. Like Sam and Freddie." He snickered.

I cross my hands and lay them down on the pillow. "Okay, I'll give him a try." I sighed.

Spencer clapped his hands, "Yay!"

"But you cannot make me go back there!" I warned, glaring at my older brother (literally).

"Of course not, you can eat and shower here," he nods, then grins, "You want spaghetti tacos?"

I almost cheered, "Yay, something didn't change!" but thought better of it, so I just nodded and looked around, "where's Sasha and Sadie?"

"Oh, they went shopping," he called back out behind the kitchen counter, digging the cabinets for spaghetti and who knows what else.

"Didn't they just go this morning?" I recall the wild assortment of bags Spencer was carrying when we first saw him.

"Yeah," he said matter-of-factly.

My face grew into a grin, "we really are related."

"Hoh, yeah." Spencer grunted, carefully measuring the spaghetti with an Arrested Development DVD. "You and Sasha were really close, and Sadie totally looks up to her cool celebrity aunt," he grinned.

"Awesome," I remark, then added with a second thought, "how'd you and Sasha meet?"

He seemed to be thinking. "I don't know," he finally decided, dumping the spaghetti into a bowl and arranging the taco shells into the shape of Chewbacca.

"Okay," I said easily, moving onto the next question, "what's Sadie like?"

Carrying the plates towards the couch (they have a coffee table now), he puts them down and sat down next to me. "Complex," he announces. "A bit like me, a bit like Sasha. You know, perfect." He smiled at me, and I felt a pang in my chest. I wanted some of that domesticate bliss.

"She's really cute," I say, deeming that a neutral response. Then – "so, if Shane really loves me that much, why didn't he, you know, propose?"

Spencer doesn't seem bothered by the abrupt change in subject, "I think you were afraid of the media scrutiny?" he says, "there was this one episode where you said that sixty-five percent of all celebrity marriages collapse because of the press." He seems delighted to say the statistics, a habit he's had since he was a child.

"Oh, okay," I say, pleased with the response, though still wishing I could get married like everybody else, despite the fact I didn't even wanna be _around_ my boyfriend.

Wanting to change the subject, I asked, "how come you knew we had amnesia right away?" It _had_ to have been amnesia, there's no other logical way and Carly Shay does _not_ believe in miracles.

"You had all the signs of an attack," he says, forking the spaghetti onto the tacos then cramming them in his mouth. "It was obvious."

"An attack of what?" I ask.

He mumbles something like "-ja", mouth full of tacos. I assume he said amne_sia_ and moves on.

"How's, uh," I mentally list all the people who I can remember. "– Mrs. Benson? How come Sam's living in her apartment?"

"Oh, she's great," he says, swallowing another mouthful. "She got married!"

"No way, to who?" I ask.

"Some dentist," he waves his hand. "They moved to the suburbs to have a nice easy boring life, so Sam moved in to be closer to Gr- uh, Freddie." He seemed to pause.

I frown, "but Freddie doesn't live there anymore."

A beat. "Yeah." Spencer nods, chewing slowly.

"Ohhhh-kay." I look at my brother strangely. He seemed to be avoiding my eye.

Deciding to move on again (you kinda have to do that a lot around Spencer), I mentally check the list. "How's Gibby?"

"Gibby's a lawyer," Spencer stated. I almost choked, and I wasn't even eating (didn't feel like it.) "Gibby? A lawyer?"

He shrugged, "yeah. After high school, he went to Harvard on early admission, now he's back at Seattle running his own firm and a small chain of haberdasheries with Nevel."

I started laughing.

Spencer looked amused, "I know. I don't even know what a haberdashery is and it still sounds like Gibby."

I grinned hard, still laughing inside. Then I remembered, "Nevel?"

"Yeah, they're like _best_ friends," he says, "they met at an iCarly taping; you invited them back for a Friends&Foe special edition. I was there, and I met Miley Cyrus." He beamed.

"So Nevel's not evil anymore?" I asked, not able to wrap that around my head.

"No, he's still pretty evil. He never gives me the right change when I shop there." Spencer answers sadly.

"I'm sorry Spence," I say with a hint of a small smile on my face, my good mood retaining. "Taco?"

Litting up at the sight of my offering, he grabs for them like a child, "Sasha never lets me have thirds," he explains. Ah.

"Good taco?" Chuckling at my childish brother, I suddenly remember my mission. Oh, right, the list. "So, while we're being random, how's Socko?"

"Socko? Oh, he got married," Spencer says, mouth full of spaghetti.

"Who's the socky girl?" I joke.

"Well, remember those two girls at the junkyard me and Socko were supposed to go camping with, but then Chuck trapped me in the basement and sprayed me with unknown fluids?" He pointed to the water gun which he won from Chuck after a particularly odd face off at DDR.

"Oh yeah," I nod. "Which one did he end up with?"

He stopped chewing and looked at me weirdly. "Neither. He married Gina Galliano down the street."

"Oh," I say. "What…was the point of the story then?"

Spencer looked down. "I just wanted to show off my gun." He said quietly.

"Oh. Okay." I say, not missing a beat. "Do they have kids?"

"Yeah, they got this little tyke named Ivan, he's really good friends with Sadie," Spencer became more animated, talking excitedly. "Socko loves him and we have play-dates all the time. You know – Build-a-bear, Chuck E Cheese, the zoo." He grins. "Sometimes, we even let the kids tag along."

I had to chuckle at that, but Spencer suddenly jumps up. "I gotta run," he gestures to the door, looking at his watch. "I'm late."

I look at him with an amused face, "late for what?"

"I gotta go pick Chuck up from his boxing lessons," Spencer says, still looking at the watch, looking distressed.

I adjust myself on the couch, "but I thought you hated him?"

"I do." He says seriously, putting on his coat. Turning the knob, he runs out of the apartment. "Bye!"

I could only roll my eyes and chuckle. Turning myself so I was now resting my head on the armrest, I turn on the TV and channel surf, trying to catch something familiar. Turns out, there wasn't. All the old shows had either been taken off air or had new episodes so far into the future I had no idea what was going on, and I was in an information overload already.

Sighing, I open the cabinet below the TV, hoping for some old movies to watch. Ah, there it is. "Dark Knight" – just watched that yesterday – "17 Again"- hits too close to home – "Girly Cow: the Spectacular"- aha! Perfect.

Carefully removing the DVD, I took a glance at the package below it – Hm, is that the old iCarly logo? Swallowed by curiosity, I gingerly place Girly Cow on the floor, grabbing the second package instead.

The DVD cover was a picture of me, looking significantly older and significantly more glamorous. I wore glasses (that explains it!), but they looked totally awesome and intelligent. Across it was text in purple font. It said "iCarly: the fourth season collection", listing a bunch of credits where I could find Shane. Turning it around, I found a picture of Sam and Freddie in a small box, on top of it said "Friends & Foe Season Specials". In another box beside them were Gibby and Nevel, then Spencer and Miley (??). I laughed at Spencer's star struck expression, then, realizing what I'd just found, laughed some more.

_Jackpot._

-

Holy similar, this was a long chapter. Anyways, I'm all tired up from typing, so, here, LOL. Sorry for the long wait. This chapter was a monster!

_Interactive:_

1) Who do you think Future-Freddie is dating? Who would you want it to be? (we have it planned out, but guessing is fun!)

2) Say BAM WHAM SHIZAM if you liked this chapter, BOO if you didn't. (I'm so creative, right?)

3) I've put in a few more hints in this chapter as to Sam's fiancée. As usual, **bibbidi bobbidi brouhaha **if you think you know it, and **friends don't let friends get mullets **if you have no idea.

BTW: _I totally uploaded this without consulting Somer. Sup, chica. (AND IT IS NOW HER BIRTHDAY! EVERYBODY WISH HER THE BEST BIRTHDAY EVER :D)  
_


	5. Four: Melanie

**disclaimer;** Isn't it odd? I'm continuing to not own iCarly. I know, I'm shocked as well.

_**15 Going On 25**_

_Melanie's POV_

_somerdaye_

_**xx**_

"Bye, Melanie!" One of my fellow nurses call out. I wave, smiling brightly, and half-skip out the door of the hospital. Finally, I've got my vacation time. Not that I'm going anywhere, but you know, I can always spend some quality time with my sweetheart.

I get into my boyfriend's car (which he lent me while mine's in the shop) and look for one of my really old Drake Bell CDs. I listen to it every Wednesday after work, because it gets me so pumped up for the night and feeling upbeat, which I usually need to be since Wednesday evenings are when I go plan the wedding with Sam and Wendy. Griffin's usually working at his dad's restraunt around this time, and Sam is usually waiting in their apartment for me and Wendy to show up and plan everything while she lounges and eats ribs.

But this somewhat stressful evening is not getting off to a good start. I can't find Drake! I search frantically all around the car, but to no avail. I sigh, and turn on the radio instead. A familiar tune jumps out at me and I grin. This is peppy, this is upbeat, this is Carly. Yes, Carly Shay sings, people. She's quite amazing, if I do say so myself. She's only released a couple singles, but she's making nice progress in the music world.

_Wouldn't you rather get up and dance, and dance_

_The dance floor's waiting, for you to take that chance_

_Flailing limbs and moving hips_

_They don't lie, but they still fib sometimes, bad habit_

_Jump and twirl and shake and spin, I don't know where to end, or how it begins_

_There's no way I'll just sit around all day, and you shouldn't either_

_Just get up and dance, no time for a breather_

_Up, up, up_

_And dance_

I rock out behind the steering wheel, singing along and trying to ignore the suspicion that the lack of Drake is going to mean this day won't end well. I mean, it's not like it's the end of the world if I lost him. Right? _Right?_

I hope so.

On the way to Bushwell Plaza, I pass my house and smile fondly at it. The two story, yellow brick home is everything I always wanted. Perfect for starting a family... But, of course, I haven't yet. My boyfriend still hasn't proposed to me, and, well, I'm getting antsy. We started dating four years ago and moved in together right away - I wonder if he's home? Well, if he is, he knows I always go to Sam's today. Maybe he's with Griffin right now, anyway. I smile proudly. Griffin is an amazing guy, perfect for Sam. When they moved into Freddie's old apartment, they both quickly decided that kids were not an option they wanted to consider, and that Freddie's old room would be used for Griffin's enormous collection of Peewee Babies.

The smile slides off my face, so identical to my sister's, and I sigh. Sam and Griffin may not want kids, but that's one dream I've been looking forward to since high school. Not that I wanted to get pregnant _then_, of course, but I was already dreaming about marrying my Prince Charming and having two or three pretty babies. That, and becoming a doctor. But during the summer after high school, Sam broke Freddie's arm, and then tripped down the stairs trying to run away. They both spent a lot of time in the hospital, and when I visited, I noticed that the doctors didn't really do much - it was all the nurses. Thus, a new dream was born.

And the old one continues to be just that - a dream. It's already November, and I'm turning twenty six in April. Twenty six, without a husband? Twenty six, without even discussing kids? This was _not_ part of my dream slash plan. As I round into Bushwell's parking lot, I see Sam's car crashed into a streetlight and shake my head. I don't even want to know how she managed that one. The last time she crashed a car, it was Freddie's mom's in 2011, and they were making a getaway from some concert in which Sam ticked off the security guards, and they ended up leaving me and Carly to fend for ourselves. Lucky we're so pretty - they were all distracted and kept hitting on us. Freddie still rants about that night sometimes, when he's in a 'remember-the-past' mood. Most people remember _good_ times. Not Freddie - he likes to remember all the bad times with Sam, even though they continue to tick him off.

I smile again, thinking about Freddie. It's been years since the first time he kissed me - and even longer still since the first time _I_ kissed _him_, but he didn't exactly know I exist then - but I still feel those same butterflies in my stomach every time he kisses me. I think back to the night we got together - I haven't looked back since.

_**xx**_

_"Now, Freddie. This experiment might hurt a bit, but only a little. I need you to lean forward, okay?" I asked, scribbling frantically on my clipboard before glancing up and giving the boy (no, man) a dazzling smile. He gave me half a grimace in return. He'd been really down since Sam started seeing Griffin - he never did like that 'bad boy'. I, on the other hand, thought he was great. He kept Sam somewhat in line by talking her out of her more eccentric and painful ideas, and she sat in his dad's restraunt kitchen and listened to him chat while he worked._

_That's how they met - Sam had to write a review on _Roy's _and Griffin both cooked there and waited sometimes. Well, as fate would have it, he waited on Sam that night, and once they recognised each other, it was fireworks. I still felt so happy for her - this was everything she'd ask for if she knew herself well enough to ask._

_"Freddie? Can you hear me?" I waved a hand in front of his face and crouched so our faces were level. He nodded, seemingly not all there. I waited, but he still wasn't doing as I asked._

_"Well," I chuckled slightly. "Lean."_

_His head snapped to look me straight in the eyes so fast his neck cracked, and his eyes widened. I looked at him in confusion - what did I say? - and felt a little concerned. He stood up suddenly, and I was forced to stand straight again, staring up at him while he gazed down at me, as though he was seeing me in an entirely new light. I gave him a tentative smile, still confused, still worried. He responded to these mixed emotions by breaking out into a wide grin._

_"Freddie, what-"_

_He didn't give me a chance to finish my question, because the next thing I knew, he was pressing me against the wall and his mouth was on mine. A second of shock, but then I was kissing back ferociously. I'd liked him for ages, of course, and ever since we got properly introduced in junior year, my crush came back in full swing. I never dreamed he'd like me back, but here he was, _kissing me_._

_It was like one of my dreams come true._

_**xx**_

I find myself biting my lip to keep from grinning from ear to ear and freaking the hell out of the guy who just walked by me. I do a double take, because I only know one man who skips around with a monkey keychain.

"Spence?" I ask, wondering why my voice sounds so surprised. I mean, he lives here. Duh. He spins around and almost topples over, but I run forward and steady him. He stares down at me in slight alarm, and he seems to be cursing under his breath. What the heck is wrong with him?

"Whatcha doin', there, Mel?" He asks in a strange, panicky voice. I frown at him, trying to understand why his eyes are shifting back and forth across the parking lot. There is something seriously wrong with this man sometimes.

"Going to see Sam," I answer truthfully, slightly suspicious. "It's Wednesday - Wendy's meeting me here soon and we're going over the wedding plans with her. Well, okay, Wendy and I are going over the plans while Sam pigs out and watches MMA." I add thoughtfully, giggling in spite of myself. Spencer doesn't relax, and I notice that he's grabbed my arms and is now hauling me towards his car. I feel a wave of panic crash over me. "Spence...where are you taking me?" I almost don't want to hear the answer, considering it's _Spencer_.

He opens his car door and gently pushes me in, getting in the other side and locking the doors. I try not to freak out, because it's Spencer and it's not like he's kidnapping me.

"I'm kidnapping you," he explains. Well, there goes _that_ theory. "I can't have you talking to Sam about Griffin right now."

"And why can't you?"

He gives me a sheepish grin. "Sam, Carls and Freddo have amnesia or something from ninjas, and for my own amusement and revenge on your sister, I told her she's engaged to Freddie."

I stare at him with my mouth agape. He starts to drive away, humming the iCarly theme song under his breath. "Uh, Spence? What are you going to do when Griffin gets home?" I ask him, trying not to freak out too badly.

"Good point," he pulls out his cell phone and swirls through his contacts before pressing 'send' and holding the silver phone up to his ear. "I'll just leave him a message." Spencer explains. I nod weakly and lay my head on the window, closing my eyes and listening to Spencer curse when the answering machine cuts him off. I wait patiently for him to be done before talking again.

"Where exactly are you going to take me?" He frowns, as though he hasn't yet thought of this, and I count to ten in my head. "Spencer!" I'm still trying to keep myself in control, but I'm starting to flip. My voice becomes shrill as I feel the panic set in. "_Where the __**hell**__ are you taking me, Shay_?!"

"Socko's." He decides, nodding to himself. I stare at him with my mouth half open in indignition. This man is kidnapping me, bringing me to his sock making friend for Lord knows how long while my boyfriend believes he's in love with my sister and Griffin gets sent out of the country to a Peewee convention like Spencer told him there was in Manitoba. This is way too crazy. I'm now wishing I didn't acknowledge Spencer in the parking lot.

He pulls into the driveway of a normal-looking suburban house and gives me an apologetic smile, before getting out of the car and pulling me out with him, flinging me over his shoulder. I _could_ kick and scream, but what's the point? He's way bigger than I am, and stronger. I hear him ring the doorbell and a deep voice greets him warmly.

"Spencer! What goes on?"

"Hey, Socko. Buddy, I need you to hold _her_ hostage for a few days while things settle down. Don't worry, it's not Sam this time, it's her sister Melanie." I feel him point at me and become aware that all this mystery Socko can see of me is my butt. I feel myself blush, and wave an arm behind me. Socko chuckles.

"As long as it's not Sam this time - yeesh, that's something I'm never doing again - I'll be glad to, uh, hold her hostage. C'mere, Melanie." I wonder briefly about _it's not Sam this time_, and then decide I don't want to know. I half raise my arms in frustration.

"I kinda can't get down!"

"Oh, right." Spencer puts me on my feet and I sway for a second before turning to face the man who will be holding me completely hostage. He looks....normal. Which is _weird_, since this is Spencer's sock making friend, and I always thought he'd look...different. He has short, neat red hair with friendly blue eyes and stylish glasses. A five o'clock shadow is barely visible on the lower half of his face, which is currently set in a friendly smile. His clothes are modern and nondescript, and his hand is held out for me to shake. This certainly looks _nothing_ like the man who grows giant pumpkins and went camping with thirty pounds of cheese. I shake his hand weakly and follow him inside when he motions for me to. I look back at Spencer, who grins and gives me double thumbs up. I look at him with an odd combination of worry and annoyance before he skips back to his car.

I sigh and follow the weird-but-not-weird-at-all man down a bright, warmly decorated hallway. I can hear a child laughing and a woman singing softly as she cooks dinner. I can smell the chicken and potatoes and corn on the cob. I reach a hand out and feel the wall, wondering if this is all a dream. No, it can't be - I like to think I have a good imagination, but there's no way on Earth and Mars that I'd think of Socko like this.

He turns around abruptly, causing me to ram into all six feet of him and stumble. He catches me before I can fall, and chuckles at my clumsiness. He smiles warmly. "Just so you know, Melanie, my real name is Socrates Miller - but you can call me Socko if you want to." Is this a joke?! Socrates?! I don't think Spencer knows that. I stare at him for a moment before nodding absently. A voice floats in from a room to the left of me - the kitchen - and I jump.

"Socrates, hon, could you please set the table? Who's your friend?" A pretty woman with long brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail smiles at me from the kitchen doorway. Her eyes are kind and her face is sprinkled in freckles. I feel like screaming - how can they all look so normal?! She has a plain apron on and is carrying tongs (for the corn, I believe). Socko smiles down at her.

"Gina, this is Melanie. You remember Sam Puckett?" Gina gives him a look that plainly reads _of course I damn well remember Sam Puckett she insulted me multiple times and ate all my food_. Trust me, I _know_ that look. "Well, this is her sister. Melanie, this is my wife, Gina."

"Hi." I say softly, giving her the best smile I can manage. She smiles back, and I feel even more uneasy. It's too normal, it's really weirding me out.

As Socko went to set the table and Gina requests I help her in the kitchen and their son bounces in to hug me and I sing old showtunes with both of them, I keep the feeling of unease at bay. Sure, I'm having a great time, but I'm also being held here _against my will_.

Jesus. I should've just found Drake, and none of this would've happened.

_**xx**_

**somer's note;** Once again, uploaded without consulting Kat. I think we're just gonna do this to each other now, lmfao.

(oh, and a sarcastic thanks to those who said happy birthday, which was NONEOFYOU. :P)

Nobody guessed Freddie's girlfriend! I'm both happy about that and a little sad. Hopefully this chapter clears some things up. Also! The ending was SO NOT PLANNED. I just realised I had no way to keep Mels away from Sam, and then I remembered Spencer was off to pick up Chuck anyway, and thus - she got kidnapped.

Gigglesnort. Socrates.

(**Peanut butter cup** if you like, **Zigabligaboom** if you don't, and **Peewee Griffin FTW** if you just really, really want us to update.)

_Formatted by Somer._


	6. Five: Griffin

_HEEEEY THIS IS PATTY THE PARROT! Griffin is not heeere right now, and Sam the sloth is too lazy to answer the phone, so leave a message, bawk! ...haha I'm totally kidding. This is Griffin - leave a message!_

_Beeep._

"_Griffin, son, it's Dad. Just calling to check on you and to tell you I love ya! So how have you been? I'm not doing so well. You remember how the restaurant has enchilada nights on Wednesdays, right? Well, T-bo called and said that he had to go back to his home planet, or something. I think that's in Michigan - So good news bud, you're filling in for him! Alright, be careful when you clean the bathroom, and don't forget to bring gloves, or I might fire ya! Haha. Actually, you've been doing pretty lousy these days, hm… You're fired! Haha, just kidding, heh. But, seriously, bring gloves."_

_Beeep._

"_Hey, it's Gibby! I'm just calling to confirm our dancing lessons. Remember to be at the dancing peacock by seven! Also, you might wanna read up on the dress code I just emailed to you before you get there. Cheers!"_

_Beeep._

"_Hey Griffin, this is Spencer – I meant to call earlier, but, uh, something came up. Anyways, I'm just calling to tell you that Sam dropped by and she said that her phone got dipped in radioactive waste so it might spontaneously combust if you ever call it, text it, or even think of the number in your head. So don't! And – and her – I mean your – apartment is, uh…flooded! Before you ask, your peewee babies are fine. But don't visit! There are…otters swimming all over the place and beavers and pairs of majestic swans pecking and making a heart. But Sam said not to worry; she's making an endangered animal casserole right now, and stuffing the rest into hotdogs. Hee, hot…dogs. Did you ever notice how weird that word is? Anyways, my point was, don't text Sam, don't call Sam, and definitely do not –_

_Beeep!_

"_Crap - this thing cut me off! Anyways, DON'T VISIT SAM AT CARLY'S. You know Shane, right? He's a nudist. So really, don't visit unless you call first…which you can't! Do not call! Cuz, er… Shane is fond of video chat. Oh! This reminds me! I had this VIP spot booked at this peewee-babies convention in Manitoba, but I realized I couldn't go because Sadie had her piano recital that day, so it's yours if you want it. Anyways, that's mostly it, how do you stop- " _

_Beeep._

"_GODDAMMIT I CAN'T SHUT THIS FU-"_

_Beeep._

_"I got it."_

--

Oh man, a peewee babies convention? I hang up excitedly, resisting the urge to squeal, because squealing isn't manly. Clearing my throat (in case any urge to squeal reoccurs); I pick up my phone automatically, already typing Sam's speed dial number to tell her, but I stop myself when I remember. Oops. If I wanna go to the convention, I better not piss off the man (that is, Spencer. Spencer is the man).

So I pocket my phone and sigh, looking at the clock. I was at the restaurant at that moment, finishing up my shift in the back of the kitchen with Paolo. The rest of the guy's already left and the night shift people already came in, but I wanted to finish this order before I leave. Given that I will one day own this restaurant, I want people to know that I'm hard working, determined, and ready to serve them in the best way 24/7. That's 7 in the morning to 12 PM at night, right?

Noticing that I was drifting off to my culinary fantasies again (no wonder Sam wants to marry me), I pull myself back to earth and sprinkle some rosemary onto the chicken, then handing the dish to Paolo. "All yours, Paolo," I tip my imaginary hat.

"My name's Steve." He looked at me.

I shrug and move to the door. He looks like a Paolo to me. "Bye Paolo!"

"IT'S _STEVE_!"

But I was already halfway out the door. Too bad for Steve.

--

Coming out of the kitchen to the dining room, I head towards the register, telling my mom I'll be heading off. She seemed to have not heard me, busy with the customer's orders, so I clear my throat.

"Oh! Sorry, son," my mom says, noticing me for the first time. The costumer nudges her impolitely and she turns back to them, giving them their change," here you go." She looks exhausted. "Have a nice night!"

"Lucille isn't here yet?" I ask, leaning on the counters.

"No," she sighs. "She told me that she had to go to the doctors today, but truthfully," she leans in to whisper, "I think that she and T-bo eloped."

I chuckle at that. My mom is known for being the eyes and ears of the joint, but she must be way off on this one. Lucille's like forty at least, and last I heard T-bo was too focused on mass marketing his pickle smoothies to date seriously.

"Don't laugh, it could be true." My mom nudges me. "Table five's open."

"Oh, actually, I was just coming here to tell you that I'm leaving. My shift's over." I point to my wrist.

"You don't have a watch," my mom tells me.

"No, I know."

"Well, have fun," she sighs. "While I'm dealing with all these relentless costumers who want this and that and never gives me a break..."

"Alright mom, you can stop with the guilt trip," I chuckle. "I'll wait on number five."

She winks at me and gives me their order. "Risotto and cream and cheese pasta with salads on the side. And, apparently, no cheese in the cream and cheese pasta." she frowns.

"Probably teenagers." I say, taking the plates. "What about the drinks?"

"Just water," she shakes her head.

I nod. "Definitely teenagers."

She laughs and gives me a small container of pudding. "For luck," she explains.

--

Heading off to table five, which was in one of the booths in the back, I mentally ask myself where I'd sleep tonight. My apartment was definitely out of the question, since it was flooded. Mom and Dad's house was a maybe, but Gabe was in his terrible-twos, and if I wanted to be nice and rested for the convention, I should probably stay away. That leaves Caydo's house. Okay, I shrug, unaware of the people who was watching me shrug out of nowhere.

Opening the door to the booth, I see in the dim light that some teenagers were holding hands. Glad that they weren't doing anything else, I call out, "excuse me, could I open the light for a sec so I could put the plate down?" It wasn't so much that I couldn't see where the table was (because I could perfectly) as it was that I swear the girl looked familiar...

"_Griffin_?!" Yep, it was Natalie.

"Hey sis!" I grin, setting the plate down, "who's your friend?"

Nat gives me an I-thought-you-couldn't-see-the-table look, and I remembered to turn on the lights. Then I picked up the dish and put it back down. "There," I say. "It was crooked."

"I thought your shift was over?" Natalie asked in an I-don't-want-you-to-be-here kind of way.

"It was. Then mom guilt me into this."

"Oh, well, why don't you leave now?" She suggests in a you-should-really-leave kind of way (waay expressive with her body language, was my little sister). Her little boyfriend looked between us, not sure what to do.

"I will." I put up my hands, "as soon as I get to know your little friend here." I grin, remembering to show all my teeth. "What's your name?"

"MyKynnzyye, sir." He says a bit unsurely.

"Oh, that's nice, Mackenzie."

"Actually, you can just call me Mac," he offers. "And it's not Mackenzie, it's MyKynnzyye. There's a slight difference in the way you pronounce the 'e'. It's hard to tell sometimes, but it's really distinct once you use it in a sentence. Like, 'finish your homework, MyKynnzyye,' and 'take out the garbage, MyKynnzyye,' see? My mom and dad had that argument when I was born, too. My dad was gonna call me Mac, but then mom said that oh no, there are like million's of Mac's in the world, so dad told her to do whatever she wants but I was gonna be named Mac, so my mom became creative and decided on this for -"

I looked at Natalie, "is this guy for real?" I mouth. She shrugs, but I could tell she was trying not to laugh.

"- and now my dad calls me Renesme!" he finishes cheerfully.

I pause. "Yeah, okay, _Renesme_. What are you doing with my baby sister?"

Natalie spoke up, suddenly furious, "I'm not a baby anymore! And we're on a date. A _date_, Griffin. That means _you_ should be leaving."

I throw up my hands, "okay, okay I'm going." I stood up, knowing that I don't need to ruin that guy's chances anymore. He's kind of doing fine on his own.

Natalie suddenly looked serious, "wait, where are you heading? I heard the apartment was flooded."

"Wow, news travel fast."

"Yeah. Spencer called me, which is weird, because I don't even know the guy that much and I had no idea he had my number. I heard he called mom and dad too, which is weird too because I didn't know this guy was so thorough. I mean, he did blow up that stay-puft marshmallow man that time we were invited to his art gallery because a peanut burst into flames." she looked amazed. "Wow, it doesn't even make sense when you say it out loud."

"That's Spencer for ya," I scratch my head. "And I'm kind of thinking I'll just stay at Caydo's."

Natalie snorted, "Elyssa will be happy to have you." I gave her a questioning look. "And Caydo, too, of course." she nods, forking her Risotto.

"Well, this has been fun," I ruffle her hair, "but I gotta jet before Caydo heads to a strip club. I'll send Laura over to pick up the checks."

"I'm a _Roy_," she protests. "Why do I have to pay?"

"Dad goes through the customer log every night." I remind her. "Do you really want him to know you were with a guy?"

"No," she sighs. "He'll probably tell me I can't date until I'm married. I'll pay."

"Oh, thanks! This pasta's really good, by the way," MyKynnzyye cuts in, mouthful of food.

Natalie slaps her hand on her forehead and I grin at her, ruffling her hair again and telling her to have fun. Then I open the door to the booth and left the restaurant, chuckling to myself.

"Keeper."

--

Caydo's house is 20 minutes away from the restaurant. A distance of which he moans about all the time, since Roy's is his favorite place to pick up chicks. After parking my motorcycle, I went up to their door and knocked, hoping they were home.

Elyssa answered the door. "Oh, hey Griffin," she looked surprised. She's Caydo's twin sister. A quiet girl, but very fun once you get to know her. I'd like to think I have, but she always seemed shy around me.

"Sup," I nod my head. "Is Caydo here?"

"Oh, yeah," she nods lightly and turned back. "Caydo! Griffin's here!"

In a second, my best friend appeared at the door. "Yo, dude, what are you doing here? I was just about to leave."

I shrug, "I had to. I have no place to stay tonight."

"Why?" Caydo asks. Elyssa gives him a look, "oh, yeah, come on in."

I walked through the door and plopped myself down on Caydo's couch, the twins followed.

"So what happened?" Elyssa asked me, "Did you and Sam have a fight?"

"Nah, she just destroyed the apartment, so she's staying at Carly's, and I didn't wanna babysit Gabe all night so I wanted to come here and ask if I could stay tonight," I explained.

Elyssa nodded, "of course you can stay here. My - I mean our - door is always open to you."

I grin and moves over to high five Caydo. "Suh-weet! It'll be like a sleepover!"

"Dude, sleepovers are for chicks," Caydo says, "we'll have a..."

"A man-over?" I suggested. Caydo laughs, "Alright!" and we high five again.

Elyssa smiles and stands up, "well, I gotta go back upstairs. Got essays to finish," she explains.

We nod and laugh at this typical Elyssa behavior. She's studying psych at University of Washington and comes back once a week or so to the fam so that Caydo doesn't destroy the whole house. Their folks moved to Vancouver for their golden age, so the house and all the assets are theirs to use while their pa and ma are playing bridge with old Canadians.

Excited to start planning our "man-over", I turn to Caydo. "Dude, this is gonna be so awesome."

"Totally," he bobs his head enthusiastically, and we high-five again.

Then we sat there for five minutes. "...So, what now?" I scratch my head.

"How long are you staying again?" Caydo asks.

Not catching the insult, I answer the question. "Just tonight, man. Tomorrow I'm heading out to Canada."

"Sweet, you gonna go visit my folks?" Caydo asks.

"Nah, there's this pee-wee baby convention in Manitoba I gotta get to," I say.

"Awesome!" and we high-five again.

This was gonna be a long night.

--

OH GRIFFIN.

And the next round of POVs began!

Say _ELEPHANTS HAVE VERY LARGE TEAS_ if you enjoyed the chapter and_ FOR ALL THE TEA IN ELEPHANTS_ if you didn't.

P.S. also, I photoshopped a picture of the future-gang (before the old gang replaced them)'s Facebook. It's a nice little complimentary thing to go with the fic.

http :// i535. photobucket. com/ albums / ee357/ PinkJelly_520 / fb4copy. png, OR, you can check our profile!

Remove the spaces and tell me what you think!

DO-DAH, DO-DAH!


	7. Six: Freddie

**disclaimer;** I don't own, blahblahblah.

And any _Afterlight_ (aka Twilight) fans out there - I don't hate the books. I kinda like them. Also, I _know_ Renesme is spelled _Renesmee_ and all the other names are spelled wrong/different, too. Just roll with it.

ALSO - the 'playing Scrabble' thing was taken from the awesome Basco57, without permission, so, I'm sorry if it offends her (if she reads this) but I would hope it makes her laugh instead.

_**xx**_

_This is a nightmare. This isn't real. This __**can't**__ be real._

I repeat the words like a mantra as I stare, wide-eyed, around my modest home. Usually, I'd like it; there's a bunch of technological stuff that looks too complicated to understand at first glance, (but oh, I'm gonna _figure them out_), wide modern (at least, they would be in my time) couches and stuffed armchairs, a gigantic bookcase filled with all sorts of books (I'm gonna have to check those out, too) rested beside a double-desk in the corner that has two Pear computers on the surface. It's all impeccably neat, and comfortable, and usually, _usually_, I'd like it here.

_No, no, no, no, no._

I must have a roommate. This place looks too big for just me. But why my roommate would let me - _no, no, no_ - decorate this place, I do not know.

For there are pictures _everywhere_. And, once again, I'd be perfectly okay with this, _usually_, but definitely not when the pictures are mostly - okay, almost _all_ - of Sam and me. Why?! Like, I know we're engaged, but Sam _hates_ pictures. Especially with me. I see a picture of the two of us kissing at some kind of barbeque and feel faint - I need to sit down. I sink onto one of the chairs and bring my knees up to my chin. I hug myself, rocking slightly, and focus on not spontaneously combusting.

But why is Sam's hair up like that? She hates ponytails. And her clothes - she looks like she did when she was trying to impress Pete, or maybe when she pretended to have a twin sister. I guess Carly influenced Sam's style a _lot_ over the years. My head feels clearer - this is obviously not the same Sam I knew yesterday (or ten years ago) and I can handle _this_ Sam. I stand up, trying not to fall flat on my face, and walk unsteadily over to the bookcase. Usually - _**usually**_ - I would go to the computers first, but I'm kind of afraid of what I'll find - and I know better than anyone how much information can be in those small laptops (one's white, one's pink...is my roommate a girl? That would explain why she'd let me hang all the pictures, or maybe _she_ put them up because she thinks it's 'cute'. I don't know).

Scanning the shelves of books, I see how organized it is, and smile. This room is _very_ organized - it definitely helps my mind-boggling situation. I always think more clearly when I'm in a neat, clean space. I quickly look over what must be my side of the case (is that...is that a book with _my_ name on it!? It _is_! Oh my God! What's it called? _Tech Time With Freddie_?! Oh, I am in _heaven_! Just ignore the pictures of Sam on top of the bookcase and I'll be fine) and nod approvingly at my future self's taste. I move on to the other side and nod again, this time in conformation.

My roommate (housemate? Whatever) is _definitely_ a chick. Nursing books, a Drake Bell biography, a couple photo albums (not even looking, it's not my stuff to look at, really), and the _Afterlight_ series. I snort as I remember the time Sam tried reading those books - and ended up setting them all on fire once she was done _Shattering Sunrise_, much to Carly's dismay. Carly actually liked most of the books, but _SS_ was a bit too much for her. She was muttering about _stupid Renesme_ for about a week after she was finished. I never bothered to pick them up, they looked kind of stupid, to be honest. Maybe it's a chick novel. I don't know.

But I need something to do that reminds me of my past life, and maybe I'd see what Sam meant when she said _the wolves and Emmet are the best things about that trashy sex fantasy book_. I open the first book, _Afterlight_, to the first page and start to read about Belle Robin and her distaste of the town Forks - which, actually, isn't that far from Seattle.

Hours later, I put down the finished book and feel my eye continuing to twitch, even though the book is closed. Okay, vampire romance novels? Not my thing. I shudder as I set it back into it's place and wonder how I could have acquired a housemate with such...girly tastes. _Oh yeah, my housemate IS a girl. Most likely. I wonder how Sam feels about that..._ I mentally slap myself. Now is not the time to imagine how hot Sam would look jealous! Bad Freddie!

_But she __**would**_ _look pretty hot. And imagine if she got __**sooo**__ jealous, she fought your housemate..._ This time, I _physically_ slap myself. Now is _really_ not the time. Stupid vampire romance novel planting ideas in my mind. I groan as I think that, instead of my engagement being normal (aka, me as the hot vampire, her as the pretty human), _I_ am Belle Robin, and _Sam_ is Edwin Siften. _Greeeeat. How incredibly manly._

I sigh as my thoughts wander to Mikel Toaden. Carly once told me, with a big smile on her beautiful face, that I reminded her of Mikel. I thought it was a compliment. Apparently, it's not. You know, this would bother me much more if I was still in love with Carly. And I am - kinda. But I've realised that, well, she just doesn't love me back, and what's the point in waiting forever for someone who will never want you? _Ouch, harsh._ But it's true. I feel proud of my future self for moving on - even if it is with _Sam_, of all people. That thought reminds me of the dozens of pictures in the living room, and I close my eyes and bolt out the door, silently freaking out.

_Where to go, where to go..._

I realise I failed Carly, who told me to talk to people, look online, et cetera, and instead I spent the whole day reading _Afterlight_. I am a pathetic human being. I mean, it's dark outside! It's dinner time, and I'm hungry, and I want to see Sam and I don't know why. _So go see her. Nothing's stopping you. You're engaged, remember?_

"Yeah, that's right!" I say smugly. A group of people walking by stare at me, and I realise I spoke out loud. This is so not my day. I don't think _Could this day get any worse?_ because I know it can, and I know it will, and my point is being proven right now as a teenage girl in that group shrieks and flies forward to glomp me. Yes, I said glomp. It's a cool word, okay?

"Nathan!" She squeals in my ear, and I stand there with a bewildered look on my face, I'm sure.

"Um, I don't know who this, uh, Nathan is, but I'm not him." I tell her uncomfortably, trying to wriggle out of her vice grip. She lets go and frowns at me.

"You're not Nathan Kress?" Who is Nathan Kress?

"Uh, no. My name's Freddie." I scratch the back of my neck in embarrassment. She turns bright red and backs away, giggling nervously.

"Oh! Um, I'm sorry. I...thought you were him." She turns and sprints away after her friends, who are all laughing at her.

"But who's Nathan Kress?!" I shout after her. She ignores me, and I groan. This Nathan Kress guy better be good-looking or I'm taking offense.

_**xx**_

Why the hell am I so nervous?! This is _my damn apartment_. Or, you know, it was. Inside it is _Sam Puckett_. Sure, I should be nervous around her, but only because she'll break my arm if she's bored. Not for any other reason. Sure, we're engaged, and it's freaking me out, but I've just gotta get over it. I take a deep breath and knock on the door, trying not to feel too weird about being here. Sam opens the door, a spoon hanging from her mouth and a tub of ice cream in her hand. She looks surprised to see me, but steps aside to allow me in.

God, this is weird. I mean, this used to be my apartment. MINE. And now it's decorated in Sam's fashion, which I can see she's comfortable with. (Yeah, that makes one of us.) I follow her to the kitchen, where she puts the ice cream in the freezer and tosses the spoon into the sink. She turns around and stares at me, not knowing quite what to say. I'm feeling that too - it's awkward and weird, even though we tried to say it wouldn't get like this, and I thought we were over the weirdness this morning, but now Carly isn't here and it's just the two of us and she's _still_ not saying anything so maybe _I_ should say something but nothing's coming to mind and -

"I read _Afterlight_ today!" I blurt out, much louder than necessary. She looks startled by my outburst for like, a millisecond, before cracking up.

"_Afterlight_?!" She howls, clutching her stomach with one hand and the kitchen counter with the other, holding herself upright. Watching her laugh at my expense, I can't help but smile sheepishly at her, trying not to freak out again as images of Sam as a strong, fast, beautiful creature, _carrying me on her back_, comes to mind. Sadly, it's not far off from the truth. Sam finally calms down enough to tease me. "Why? All the teen magazines gone? Missing those quizzes to _find out if he really likes you_ or _learn what jeans best fit your body type_?" Still chuckling, she punches me on the shoulder. It doesn't hurt, and this surprises me. But then again, I think I'm stronger than her now. Or at least _as strong_.

"No, I was just bored and trying to...distract myself." My face pales and I feel sick as I remember exactly _what_ I was distracting myself from. Sam notices, and a small crease between her eyebrows appears. It takes me a moment to realise that she's worried, but in that same moment, she covers the emotion up by laughing again.

"What'd you find - gay porn websites on your memory?" Underneath the jab, I can hear the curiosity. I shake my head, unamused. Should I tell her? It might make this even weirder. I decide to change the subject - and fast.

"Nothing. Hey, you know what's stupid? If Edwin is able to suck venom out of Belle's blood while she's bleeding so much and not hurt her, then why on Earth couldn't he kiss her properly?" I'm not actually that interested in Belle and Edwin's romantic life - considering it's fictional and all - but the question derailed Sam from asking about my house, which was my goal. She laughs again, but not as heartily as before, and she jumps slightly to sit on the counter. I smirk when I notice her annoyance - she's grown maybe two inches since we were fifteen. I, on the other hand, am now well over six feet tall.

"I know, right? So stupid. They don't even do it until _Shattering Sunrise_!" She complains, and I stare at her, questioning her sanity. She _wanted_ to read about them, um, playing Scrabble? Seeing my expression, she shakes her head, smiling slightly. "No, no, it's not _that_. I wanted to see how badly she'd get hurt." Ah, that explains it. I force a laugh and reach into the well-stocked fridge for a root beer. I crack it open and look at Sam, who is currently staring at me with a thoughtful expression on her face. Trying to ignore her, I raise the can to my lips and drink some of the frothy beverage. "I wonder if _we've _had sex." Sam says conversationally. And _out of friggin' nowhere_.

I do a spit-take that would make iCarly viewers proud and splutter as Sam smirks at me, enjoying herself. As I try to overcome the shock, she continues cheerfully. "I mean, we probably have, but you might have a nubbish _not until marriage _thing going on, which I doubt because I'm impossible to resist. Then again, we have no idea how long the two of us have been dating, and for all we know you proposed last week. But I still think we've done it, even if you did have a rule, because you're pretty hot now and since when does Mama listen to rules?" I'm sure she's having the time of her life, chatting casually about our Scrabble tendencies while I stand here, coughing and soaking wet, my face bright red from both embarrassment and lack of air. She just laughs at me and gets down from the counter, stretching. "I'm gonna go see if I can dig up some pajamas for you. I think some of your clothes are here. Be right back, nub."

I try to control my breathing, but it's difficult. Eventually, I manage to get my face color back to normal. I stare down at my wet shirt in disgust, and take it off without a second thought. Throwing the shirt onto the couch, I stretch as well, getting calmer with every breath in. Sam only said those things to wind me up. And I guess she's more peceptive than I gave her credit for, because she's getting me pajamas instead of telling me to go home - she noticed I don't like my house much, even though I didn't say anything about it.

**DONG.**

I jump about a foot into the air as the doorbell rings. Pulling myself together, I walk down the hall and open the door calmly, completely forgetting that one, I don't live here, and two, I'm shirtless. So when I see who's standing in front of me (all five foot three of her) and she sees _me_ standing in the doorway (or, to be more accurate, she sees my chest - which, now that I'm noticing, is pretty nicely toned, AWESOME - because she's so short) I blush slightly and grin nervously. I definitely recognise her, and she _certainly_ recognises me, as she stares up at me, speechless, but I can't think of anything to say to her. Sam appears at my shoulder.

"Fredward, I found some pajama pants for you and threw a pillow at the couch - oh, Wendy! What are you doing here?"

_**xx**_

**somer's note;** Giggle. I ended it on a cliffhanger. BUAHAHA. Anyway, I know some people don't have much to say other than "I like the way this is going and can't wait till you update!" or even shorter than that, sometimes, but know that Kat and I prefer the long ones - especially when they say their favorite parts of the chapter, and what made it funny/awesome/bad, even/etc. Just, to, uh, _subtley_ hint that if you can, a longer review would be nice. :)

**I ate your friends, mr fry** if you liked, **omlette tacos** if you didn't. And once again, **I do not hate Twilight.** So don't get offended by the jabs at it in here, because I cannot see Freddie liking it, and I can't see Sam and Carly liking Breaking Dawn (alias Shattering Sunrise), so please do not review and say I shouldn't make fun of Twilight or something, because I am at liberty to do that - and I did.

Okay, sorry for the mean note above. But I love you all and I hope you liked Freddie's first full POV. :)

_Formatted by Somer._


	8. Seven: Sam

Disclaimer: I own iCarly, which is PRECISELY why I am writing fanfiction.

**15 Going On 25**

_Sam's POV_

Written by Kat

--

Getting slightly annoyed at Wendy's silence and star struck expression while looking at my boyfriend, I clear my throat. "Seriously, Wendy, what are you doing here?"

She realizes she's gaping like a goldfish and blushes. "I'm sorry, it's just – you're really hot, you know that, right?" she says to Freddie, pushing past him to plop down on the couch. When did Wendy get feisty? And when did she start thinking that Freddie was hot?

Interrupting my train of thought, Freddie closes the door and redden a bit, his brown meatball-colored hair slightly messed up and his torso exposed, revealing a whole lot of -

Okay, so, probably around the time that he _got _hot.

Realizing I was still standing next to a half naked Freddie, I quickly move over to the couch, plopping down next to Wendy. "So, Wends, how have you been?" I ask carefully.

"Oh, I've been fine," she waves her hand and smirks. "But it looks like you've been better."

Eyeing Freddie, who was still standing near the door like he forgot how to move, I chuckle, remembering that we were supposed to be in love. Wendy chuckles with me, her hands on a small briefcase. "Ah, so much merriment. So have you seen this?" she asks, pushing it towards me.

"No, what is it?" I question.

"It's the -" she starts, but stops, looking puzzled. "What's wrong with Freddie?"

I throw a small grape at him. "Look alive, dweeb."

"I think I'll go upstairs and put on a shirt," he says slowly, the grape in his hand.

"Good idea," I give him a mock thumbs up. Wendy chuckles beside me. "What?"

"Nothing," she shakes her head, smiling. "It's just – you two are really cute, you know that?"

I shrug, "that's what Spencer told me."

She looked confused, but shrugs it off as she pointed to the briefcase again. "Anyway, these are your wedding invitations. Emma sent these to me yesterday night and I want it to get approved with you," she explains.

I open the briefcase. "Nice," I tell her after a brief glance. "These are really pretty."

Wendy grins, "I'm glad you like them. We want your wedding to Chef-Boy-Ar-Wee perfect, right?" she winks.

"Freddie has his _own line of canned pasta composed of a filling sealed between two layers of thin pasta dough?!_" I did a double take, almost shouting.

Wendy looked confused again. "What are you talking about? You're marrying Griffin, aren't you?"

I just stare at her. "What are _you_ talking about?"

She sighs. "I expected cold feet, but nothing like this." Standing up, she put her hand on my shoulder. "You – Sam Puckett - are marrying Griffin Roy, remember?"

_What?!_

"What?!" I stand up suddenly, toppling Wendy over as she was using my shoulder as support. She fell to the floor with a comedic clang and footsteps came down the stairs.

"What's going on?" Freddie demanded, wearing a red T-shirt with a giant "Slut" written across the chest. Wendy manages to stand up again using the couch and we both stared at him.

Freddie looked down. "Oh-" he stutters. "I – I couldn't find any guy shirts in your closet and I thought maybe if I wore a jacket it wouldn't – and I didn't have time to find one so –"

Wendy and I just burst into laughter, pointing at him to each other and giggling in huge gasps, barely pausing for air. He looks annoyed. "What's with girl duos laughing at me simultaneously today?"

"D-Don't worry," Wendy gasps, pausing for laughter. "You're still hot – HAHA!" She fell back onto the floor, covering her stomach and still in a fit of giggles.

I stand up from where I am lying on the couch, suddenly remembering what me and Wendy were just discussing. "You should probably change," I say, gesturing to the stairs.

He looks confused at my sudden change of mood, but obeys anyways. I turn back to Wendy and pull her back onto the couch. "So, what were we talking about before the tension got cut by Freddie's wardrobe mishap?" I ask bluntly.

"Well, uh, I think you were shocked that you were getting married to your fiancée?" Wendy states with a chuckle.

"Right." I shakes my head. "Sorry – Griffin, is it?"

"No, my name's Wendy." She says. "But if you mean who your fiancée is – then yeah, it's Griffin."

I sat back down. "Wow," I breathe out. And then, just to make sure – "how do you know this?"

"Well, it's my job to know," she says, "I'm your wedding planner, aren't I?"

I pause. "That you are. And just so you know, I was just kidding about the whole Freddie thing," I make up, "I was just testing you so you don't – uh, accidentally marry me to the wrong guy." I smile, satisfied.

"Okay, Sam," Wendy playfully roll her eyes, "it's not like you just wanted to play house with Freddie one more time before you get hitched, you know - forever." she smirks.

"Huh?"

"Oh, don't 'huh' me," she leans towards me, her eyes serious; "you can't kid yourself anymore, Sam."

At my questioning look, she sighs. "Maybe this is too late," she whispered quietly to herself, and I suddenly couldn't stand how dramatic everything was. "Would you please just tell me what you're going on about?"

"You're in love with Freddie." she states bluntly, "and he's in love with you."

Woah.

"And how do you know this?" I managed to keep calm by reminding myself that this _isn't me_, I'm not this Sam and he is not this Freddie, so it's perfectly regular for people in this weird dimension to think that we're in love with each other because in our own? We're definitely not. Nuh-uh. Nope.

"It's so obvious to everyone but you two!" she snaps. "Me, Spencer, Carly, even that girl that Griffin hangs out with, Alyssa or something. Everyone! And I know that deep down, you see it too. You guys give and get and are completely perfect for each other and I can't just stand here and let you deny it!"

I put up my hand, "woaah, Wendy. You're my wedding planner, aren't they, you know, not supposed to be trying to break up the marriage beforehand?"

"I'm your wedding planner, Sam, but I'm also your friend," her eyes looks into mine, and I get the feeling she's been planning this for a long time now, "and I can't let you throw your life away without knowing how everyone else sees you and Freddie. Not Griffin - Freddie."

"Okay, well, suppose that - suppose this Sam - I mean me - like, just, like Freddie a bit," I answer hesitantly, because from what I've seen of her room she just might - "what makes you think that he feels the same way?"

Wendy's eyes lit up, taking the stuttered question as an admission. "Well, I think that he's been feeling that way for a whole now," she answers. "I mean - there's all the times he keep fat-cakes in his locker when we were in high school, just so you wouldn't get hungry - and how he always draw attention to you, ignoring even Carly - and there was also that time when you were really depressed because Missy was stealing Carly away, and he gave up the School At Sea thing so she would leave - oh! and how he'd always like girls who looked like you, funny how that turned out actually -"

"Wait," I interrupt, "what are you talking about?"

"I mean, in high school, he'd always like these blonde, sort of tiny girls," Wendy explains, "I always thought that was weird but it was fitting because of who he ended up -"

"No, I mean the one before that," I interrupt again.

Wendy sighs. "They always do. Well, remember that time -"

I interrupt, "yeah, yeah, the school at sea thing, I remember. How did he - I mean, why?"

"I was an office worker around that time," she tells me, looking a bit exasperated that she kept being interrupted. "and I overheard - alright, alright, I leaned against the door - him telling principal Franklin that he wanted to give the prize to Missy, and I thought that was because Freddie had a crush on Missy, so I told Freddie - Carly was there - that it was a really sweet thing to do, but then afterward I overheard - okay, okay, so I eavesdropped by the corner - that you wanted Missy gone because she was stealing Carly, so I deduced that it wasn't _Missy_ who he liked," she smiled.

I was speechless and touched and kind of angry all at once.

"So is it sinking in?" she says hopefully.

"Yeah, something's sinking in," I mutter. "Thanks, Wendy."

"You're welcome!" she looks happy, "I'm so happy."

"I think I need to talk to Freddie," I say. "Can you - _do_ you have a home?"

"Oh, yeah, I'll just call Lucas and tell him I'll be back early," she says, pulling out her cell-phone.

"Wait, Lucas Cruikshank?"

"Yeah," she smiles. "I mean, after the high school Freddie fiasco, I so needed another hot internet phenomenon to crush on, so I watched Fred and thanks to Carly's Friends & Foes reunion episode thing, we're married now." she holds up her hand and shows the diamond ring.

"What high school Freddie fiasco?" I ask, my ears now sensitive to anything starting with an Fre and ending with a ddie, unless I spelled it wrong, maybe.

"Oh, I had an enormous stalker crush on him back then," Wendy waved her hand and something glimmered. "After he grew some, every girl in the school was absolutely crazy for him. He was oblivious to it all, though," she laughs. "I remember there was this one time before grad he kept trying out for all these clubs for his resume, and most of the girls would join in then drop out when he does, until he found and stuck with MMA. It was kind of insane. The teachers kept bribing him to join a certain club at a time so they could get more funding. I remember Mrs. Brigs started a haggis club and Freddie forced you to join with him, though you didn't need much prodding, and you dropped out after the lunches became "would you date me" interviews for him." Wendy grinned at the recollection.

"MMA? Must be where the muscles come from." I say.

"Oh, yes." Wendy nods enthusiastically. "And ping pong too, probably. Ultimate Frisbee definitely did wonders for his biceps."

"Ping pong?" I snicker. "What else did he join, Asian Studies?"

Wendy thought for a moment. "Yep."

I quirked my eyebrow.

"Well, of course he joined Black Student Region too," Wendy says. "Can't discriminate."

"Don't you have to go?" I reply.

"Oh, yes!" Wendy says, "I gotta go pick up your dress. You like pink, right?"

I smile weakly. "Bye!" then I watch her pack up the little case and push out the door.

--

I walk up the stairs.

In a pile, by itself - clothes were scattered everywhere on the floors, trailing the bathroom to the bedroom. I enter the guest room to find a wriggling figure beneath mounds of blouses, baby dolls and dresses. I quirk an eyebrow - did I really dress like that now? - And, oh, yeah, Freddie's being buried by cloth. Maybe I should get on that.

Brushing a halter top off of him, I pull him out of the pile. Like a triggered bomb, more clothes falls down, I look up to see the culprit - ah, an airborne closet, of course. How could it have been anything else?

Clinging to me and looking terrified, Freddie and I watched my wardrobe rain. The future is definitely not something you can predict, I decide.

"So," Freddie says, turning to me after the last belt fell to the floor. "What do we do now?"

"Well - it's a closet that floats in the _air_, so it's probably something technical." I decide and shrug. "Your department."

Freddie hesitantly claps his hands. Not a bra stirs.

"Well, so much for that." I look for a place to sit, and when not able to find any, crafted my own (who knew silk was so sturdy) while Freddie looks on dubiously, and I pat the space next to me.

"I don't think I wanna sit on that," he eyes my underwear pile.

I roll my eyes. "Just get over here, prude."

He rolls his eyes back at me, but sits down slowly, cringing a bit.

"Oh relax," I say easily. "This is Carly's spare outfit's room; I doubt she even touched any of these."

"How do you know?"

I point up. The backside of the closet said _'Carly's Spare Outfits Room: I never even touched any of these._"

Freddie blinks. "Wow, somehow I saw that coming." I shrug, "what can I say, I guess our friendship transcend the ages."

He looks at me. "So we're friends?"

I lean my right elbow on his shoulder, "do friends give up six-month cruises for each other?"

He stiffens. "How'd you know?"

"Oh, a little birdie told me." I smirk.

He gave me a look, "how stupid do you think I am?"

"Alright, alright, it was Wendy." I admit, laughing a little.

"Wendy," he made a comedic angry face.

I smile and look down a bit. "So, it's true?"

"Yeah," he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"That was stupid." I tell him seriously. "You shouldn't have done it, I could have taken care of it myself."

He suddenly looks defensive. "Hey, I gave up a chance of a lifetime for you, and now you're mad at me?"

I prop my elbow off his shoulder and stands up. "Exactly! Do you have any idea what it could have done for you? Why give it up for _me_?"

He turns his head away from me. "I was protecting iCarly."

"How stupid do you think _I_ am?" I stare at him.

He sighs, still not looking at me. "Alright, so maybe I did it for you." He admits. "You were so hurt, and you actually came to me for help and I didn't – at all. I always thought of us as friends who tease and taunt but would come through in the end and I _didn't_. Missy was ruining you and Carly's friendship and yours and mine and I didn't want someone like that around because," he looks down, "you're kind of important to me."

I didn't say anything, but my mouth threatens to curl, so I lunge forward and hug him. He staggers back (didn't know my own strength) and falls, ruining my make-shift chair.

"Now look what you've done, Freddifer." I mock sigh, lying on top of him. "You ruined my sandcastle!"

"I'll make you another one, Princess Puckett." He smirks, his hands on my back, the fragrance of Carly's spare clothes surrounding us.

"Make sure you see to that." I reply and lean in closer, connecting my lips to his cheek. (What?)

I feel him stiffen a bit. "Uh -"

Pulling away, I grin at him. "Thank you."

He reclines his head. "You're welcome. You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were touched by my gesture."

"Yeah, you'd think so." I scoff, getting up then offering my hand to his. He hesitates for a moment as if it could be a booby trap, but takes it.

"So, now that we're face to face," I comment to him, "did you know that Spencer's been punking us?"

He scrunches his eyebrows together. "That show's still on?"

I roll my eyes, "not really the point here, dweeb. The point is he's been _lying_." I tell him. "We're not really engaged."

He looks even more confused, "but - the pictures in my apartment -"

"- are probably shopped or something. Look, I'm actually engaged to Griffin," I pull a copy of the wedding invitation out from my back pocket and hand it to him. "Puckett-Roy, see?"

He looks stunned. "But - wha -"

"I know, I know, why would Spencer do this?" I could see that it wasn't what he was talking about, but I didn't really want to hear it, not yet. "Most likely revenge for some prank I did. He was always good at holding grudges."

Freddie was silent, processing this. After a while, he spoke up. "Let's _get _him."

I clap my hands together in glee. This was something I can do. "And I've got the perfect idea."

Whispering it to him (Spencer was our neighbor after all) we head out to execute our plan. But Freddie stops me before I move. "What are you gonna do with all of this clothing?" He asks.

"Oh," I answer. "...Up?"

A giant hover (it was kind of terrifying, actually) comes over our heads and starts sucking all the stuff back in, making us run to dodge being hit or beamed up. The clothes – the blouses, the babydolls, the bras – goes through the tube and are neatly stacked back into the closet, a robot hand spraying them with Fabreeze before wrapping them in plastic.

"So that was the scariest experience of my life," Freddie deadpans.

"Oh, just because you never saw thongs before," I push him.

_--_

_"Spencer!"_

_"Sam, Freddie? What are you guys doing here?"_

_"I'm pregnant!"_

--

A/N:

This one took awhile, eh? Ha-ha, not gonna lie, been pretty busy, but Somer's in a writing mood so you'll be blessed with a new chapter fairly soon. :)

Please write THE SEDDIE BABY WILL LOOK LIKE MELANIE if you liked it and ROFLMAO I LOVE THIS SO MUCH if you didn't.

And, if you please, me and Somer both wrote new one-shots in our own accounts. Mine is PinkJelly and hers is Somerdaye. We'd love it if you'd check it out and maybe review?  Thanks so much in advance!

P.S. Also, a question: do you prefer it when an author replies to reviews, or not?

P.S. By the way, because some reviewers were confused, Sam isn't really pregnant. It's the prank they're pulling on Spencer ;).


	9. Chapter 9

Hey there, guys. Sorry for letting you guys think it's a new chapter, I know I hate it when authors do that, but, I'm just posting to tell you guys that this story will now be officially put on hiatus. Me and Somer are just too preoccupied with school and homework now that we both entered high school, we just don't have the time & the motivation to work on this. I personally would love to see this story to an end, and I hope we'll get around to it eventually, but right now this isn't a priority. We're both slowly disconnecting ourselves to this fandom, as season three was nowhere near as engaging as the previous ones in my opinion, so we're just...burnt out, I guess?

Either way, I apologize for keeping you guys waiting on the next chapter, and we'll do our best to churn out something in the near future. We love all your support and you guys are great, really. Thank you so much for making our fic writing experience just THAT much better.

Blurry fries!

- Kat.


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